


Damran

by backwards_wordsmith



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Cannibalism, F/F, F/M, Incest, M/M, Multi, Necrophilia, Non-Consensual, Other, Rape, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 49
Words: 42,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3792553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwards_wordsmith/pseuds/backwards_wordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pain is a terrible thing, and the people who are good at it are terrible people. Worse are the ones who enjoy it. (Damran is One, and they are Many. Each chapter is a piece of Damran's journey. Notable characters come in as it progresses.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Should Have Known Better

**Author's Note:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it. 
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Garmok didn’t know how it had happened. He had fled with the missive, the rest of his party in shambles - literal shambles. Limbs had been removed as easily as he’s peel a cactus pear. The one that had attacked them was smaller than an orc, thicker than a troll, and fast. Too fast. The weapon it bore, a pole arm with a wicked blade, had shined bright with magic and blood.

And it had followed him, and it had caught him.

Now, it sat on his back, too heavy for him to breathe in its armour. Too heavy in its cruelty, as it tore open his back with its clawed hands. As it tore his clothes to shreds, as it had curled his hair around its hand and yanked hard enough to snap his neck had he been any weaker. The pain did not burn as brightly as the humiliation, as the dishonour, as the creature leaned over him, laughing and biting him hard enough to draw blood in a mockery of orcish mating.

It left him there, with the missive. He bled for a long time, and it took even longer for his muscles to respond. They spasmed for the next day, even as he looted his fallen brothers for whole articles of clothing. He could not return in this state. He could not let anyone know he had been defeated by such a creature. Defeated so easily as to cry, like a whelp.

He had to kill it.

“You’re not gonna kill me, boya.”

He saw the grinning, eight-eyed helm, and then he felt pain worse even than the first time. It took its time with him, going so far as to break his jaw to use his mouth. Then, it took him from behind again. Left him bleeding on the forest floor. “Two choices, sweetcheeks. I kill you, use your body some more, and send your head to your family. Or, I keep you for another couple of weeks until I get bored. Then you get to watch me some. Then I send you on your merry way. Pick one.”

“Kill me,” he groaned, barely understandable through his shattered mandible. The creature grinned, its helmet removed, and he saw true evil in its eyes.

“Wise choice. You would’ve killed yourself after I was finished with you. And as I understand it, you orcs don’t consider that too honourable.”

It reached for a weapon, picking up Garmok’s own sword. A swift downward cut was all it took.


	2. At Least it Pays Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia, forced incest. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.

It reached around to cover his mouth as he started to cry. The pain was horrible, but the knowledge of what it was doing - the feeling of being violently penetrated, the feeling of the table being pressed into his hips, the sound of its whispers in his ear - that was Hell. He was in Hell.

It grunted as it finished inside him, relaxing against his back and pressing him through sheer weight into the table. “Oh, you’re my new favourite,” it moaned, clawed hands scraping down the side of his thigh. He knew that it hadn’t raised blood. The only blood it had gotten from him was from his backside. It was too skilled for that. “Just the right amount of struggle.” 

It withdrew from him and left him suddenly. He felt cold, numb. A blanket was tossed over him. 

“Don’t freeze now, honey. I’ll be back next time.” The plink of coins alerted to him its escape. It was always the same. Use him, pay him, leave. He had some time now to himself, before his next customer. The next was always gentle, and female. He planned it carefully. He couldn’t handle another male right now, not with the pain he was in. It had been gentler than usual, and it always paid well. He wished he could find another line of work.


	3. Don't Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia, forced incest. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.

Marie bit back a scream.

She remembered - it didn’t like screams. It liked it when its victims cried, or moaned or begged or whimpered, but it didn’t like screaming. That had earned her brother a slit throat, and three hours of being used as a corpse. As a toy. And then she dissected him, and used him again in ways Marie didn’t want to think about. Couldn’t think about, or she’d go insane.

It was coming towards her. She scrambled away as fast as she could with a broken leg. Her other brother was moaning in the corner far away, too far to reach. “You got two choices, sweetling,” it told her, crouching down in front of her. A piece of the front of its armour had been removed to reveal its member, flaccid for the moment. “I use you like I used my screamer. I like to hear the noises. Or.”

It waited.

“Or what?” she asked weakly. She barely held back bile as it grinned at her, face slick with blood from where it had shoved its face in her brother’s innards.

“Your brother fucks you, and I fuck him.”

She gagged, slapped both hands over her mouth, and screwed her eyes shut as she started to cry, no sounds escaping her. Until its clawed hands pried Marie’s hands away from her mouth. “Two choices, sweetling. And I promise you, you’ll regret choosing the first one.”

“The... the second one.” She curled in on herself. This couldn’t be happening it couldn’t be real it was impossible what had she done to deserve this why was it happening.

“Good choice.”

Marie didn’t know how it managed to get her brother back on his feet, beaten as he was, but he was on top of her and inside her and she had already vomited twice, emptying her stomach, and now it was just spit. And she could feel the warm blood from his backside leaking her as it took him from behind, violently, the force of it shuddering all the way through to her.

She didn’t register anything for the next hour. She was glad for that. “It’s just about over now, sweetling. One little thing left.”

“What,” she said. Not asked. She was too tired to ask. It pressed her jaw between its thumb and forefinger, the claws pricking little drops of blood from her ashen face.

“You ever pleasure your husband?” The tip of its member poked her lips, and she obediently opened her mouth. “Ah-ah, not like that. Like you mean it. There you go,” it crooned. She took its member in her hands.

“Will you kill me after this.”

“If you’d like.”

“Please.”

“Aw, no need to beg.” It pushed forward enough to get her to start again. “I’m not one to hold back, sweetling.”


	4. Only Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia, forced incest. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.

“Your father wanted me to come and show you some things,” she murmured into his ear. “Said if you wanted to love men, you should at least know how.”

“I can figure it out on my own.” Anduin, named after a hero like so many others, panted as she fondled his hardened manhood.

“Ah, but there’s so much danger in it - you don’t want to get torn up, do you? So many men out there wanting to use you.” She shoved the chair back and it fell to the ground with a clang. She had pulled Anduin to his feet at the same time, but now had a fist in his black hair, holding his chin up so she could lick his neck. “At least with me, I’m paid to be gentle.”

He couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed it. They knew what they were doing. At first he had thought they had some sort of toy that could imitate a man’s member, but he knew better now. They had told him all about the wonders and dangers of sex with a man, even as they had caused more pleasure than he knew could be caused inside him. They had also caused pain, as his scratched back and stiff legs could attest to. But he couldn’t fault them for that - he had enjoyed it, in the end.

“By the way,” they said as they redressed, leaving him bruised and tired on his bed. “I’m not usually so gentle. If I catch you making eyes at me I’ll leave you broken and dead in your body.”

“Okay,” he mumbled into his pillow. The door slammed shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the prince. You think only one person would be named after the great hero Anduin Lothar?


	5. Price to Pay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia, forced incest. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.

She watched him enter his room at the inn, leaving the raucous crowd below. It never took much effort to break into an inn, even for a plate wearer such as herself.

She leaned over his shoulder. “There’s a fair price on your head,” she murmured. He froze. “Ah, don’t be so tense. It tends to hurt more if you don’t relax a little.”

Being friendly with rogues had its advantages. She watched as the little needle, coated in a substance that was toxic in larger quantities, forced his muscles to relax. He slumped over the desk, already begging for mercy. “Please - you don’t know what happened, it wasn’t my fault, I swear-”

“None of that, now.” She placed a clawed hand over his mouth. “I’m quite tempted to break that voice, and don’t think I don’t know how.” A single claw over his throat was all it took to silence him. “Now, you can do one of two things - you can entertain me, with that pretty voice of yours, Mister Singer, or I can take you to the people who will pay me an awful lot of money for you unspoiled.”

“What do you m-mean, entertain?” When their hand reached his backside, he stuttered.

“I think you know well what I mean, pretty.”

The relaxant had faded quickly - too quickly, and it had indeed been painful to accept their member into himself. But it was the price of staying alive, after angering a few very powerful and ruthless people.

“Move your hips a little more - there you go, pretty,” they moaned, and left three angry red lines down his thigh. She had kept most of her armour on, and he was glad they were letting him do most of the moving. If she had been on top... He didn’t want to think about. She grunted as she came inside him, piercing his thighs with her claws. The small wounds bled sluggishly. “Go take care of that,” she instructed. “Then come back with sometime to drink. I’m getting a little thirsty.”

“Yes,” he nodded, and tottered to the washbasin. 

The second time was easier. He still had their cum in his arse, so it was slick enough to accept them more easily. And, he was still a little stretched out. But it was harder, at the same time, because partway through they had said, “I wish you had another hole I could use. Oh, wait.” And had taken all semblance of control away with no more than a hand in his hair. That had hurt, and it had humiliated him completely. The vomit down his chest was the only reminder, thankfully, and it was washed away easily enough. His voice was no more than a croak, but it would heal in a few days.

“Take care, pretty,” she crooned before she left through the door. He locked it behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damran has no fixed gender or pronouns because Damran is many beings all stuck together in one body. So it varies from he, she, they, sometimes to it, at random.


	6. Provided Entertainment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

They belonged to a guild - barely. Every now and then they’d go to see the Guild Master, or one of her assistants, and see if there was anything interesting to be done. Today was one of those rare days.

A paladin, in old Judgement armour that had somehow seen them to hell and back, sat alone in the common room of the guild’s compound. The Glory Seekers were the largest guild in the Alliance, owing their allegiance to their leader, Gadreel. She was an imposing woman, a warrior through and through, and led them well. Vengeance, the paladin, was one of her guild’s managers, answering only to Gadreel.

“Vengeance,” Damran crooned. “How are you doing?” Knowing full well the paladin never spoke aloud, Damran leaned over their chair and grinned. The paladin’s face was covered, as always. No one had actually seen their face, except for Gadreel. Almost no one knew why Vengeance remained mute, but they communicated fine with sign language.

“...” Vengeance looked up from their book, and then nodded to the door that led to the basement. 

“Oh, you’ve got something for me?” Damran asked, her grin turning feral. Her teeth were all sharp pearly points, and she stood and sauntered over to the door. “How nice. I visit, and there’s entertainment waiting.”

In the basement, a warlock laid waiting. He was tied to a table, straps containing him and his power with sigils and runes inscribed into the leather. Their own resident High Warlock Lady Scaril of House Amadeus had made them long ago, and they had done a fine job until now.

Six guards patrolled the dungeons. Each one looked down at the ground when Damran passed, and they all smelled of fear. It was Damran’s favourite smell. “Warlock,” he crooned. “I think I’m here for you, dear.”

The warlock raised his head to look at her. His eyes widened almost comically, and he tried to speak past the leather covering his mouth. 

“Oh, don’t do that now,” Damran said, gently stroking the warlock’s cheek with the tips of his clawed gauntlets. They pierced through the flesh and the warlock grunted, eyes tearing. “Do you have something to ask me?”

The warlock nodded furiously, and Damran removed the gag. “What are you?” he asked, frantic. “What the fuck are you?”

“That’s a lovely question, dear, but I have a better one. Are you a screamer? Because I don’t like screamers.”

They had him on the table, rough and fast. He cried, and he only screamed once before Damran grabbed his tongue with their claws and he learned to be silent past the pinpricks that bled. The second time, she mocked him with gentleness and care.

“Hush now, dear,” they said, smiling widely and showing off all their pointed teeth. Not fangs, but certainly not human. “That’s it. Just relax.”

The third time, Damran made the warlock come all over himself, and by the time they finished he was silent, eyes glassy. 

“Mm, I like you like this.” She stroked his face, leaving red welts along the soft flesh. “To answer your question - because you warlocks always seem like you know best, but I really do know exactly what I am - I am Legion. I am many, and I am Damran.”

“Damran,” he said mutely. “The Many.”

“Oh, yes. It’s a lovely word. I love Demonic, so expressive. I am Many and I am One. Odd coincidence that I was at the portal. You wouldn’t happen to know the day? Big explosion, fel everywhere, missing souls and uncounted corpses?”

“Which one are you, then?” he asked. He knew the day. All warlocks heard of the day. An attempt to harness the portal’s power, going against orders from the imperial court. Warlocks and mages of high caliber, and the invaders and defenders that had been caught in the blast. One officer, missing entirely. Many bodies without souls. And odd, faceless bodies without origin. Demons who had lost their essence, to something else that had consumed them all.

“I am all of them, dear,” Damran answered. “If you’re a good boy and answer all the questions like I know you should be answering them, I’ll tell you a little more. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She opened the door to the cell and Scaril walked in with a sneer. “Do cover yourself,” she said, and then dismissed Damran from her sight. Damran, grinning wickedly, stood behind her and leaned to her side.

“I want to hear him mewl,” they said lewdly, showing their teeth again.

“Cover yourself, and you may stay.”

Damran slipped his helm back onto his head, and then reattached her armour, hiding her flaccid member. “Good?” she asked, and the eight eye slits on her helm lit up with a soft fel glow.

“Fine.”


	7. Don't Kill the Messenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Gadreel sent a messenger to find Damran. The messenger was a rogue, one of their own, and was terrified out of her wits. “You smell like fear,” Damran said, looming over her to sniff at her neck. “I like that smell.”

The rogue was trembling - she knew exactly who Damran was, even without their armour. “Gadreel calls for you, in her quarters,” the rogue said, somehow keeping her voice steady.

“She asks that you not accost me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Damran said, mocking offense. She leaned back and held a hand to his heart. “Gadreel wounds me. I know full well I’m not to touch any Seekers without their consent.” She leaned forward again, and the rogue’s trembling took on a different tone at Damran’s voice changed. “I can make you feel like heaven,” he crooned, leaning forward in an inhuman pose to nuzzle the rogue’s throat with his cheek. “I know how to pleasure you. I can make you come fourteen times in an hour, and beg for more.”

The rogue tried to speak, but could only stutter. She was blushing heavily, and gulped. Damran felt it, his face pressed to her neck.

“Mm.” She inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. “You smell good. We have time. Gadreel knows I like to wander. Why not let loose? Take some time for yourself. You’ve earned it. I know who you are, I know how hard you work. I won’t keep you long. Just a taste.”

The rogue ended up in the bed. She was a virgin, still young, and still tender. Damran took her time, went slow and gentle as she rarely did, and enjoyed the faces the rogue made and the way her legs twitched when she came. Damran kept their promise - fourteen orgasms, one hour. And he didn’t come once, preferring to tease her with his cock at her anus.

“Maybe next time,” he said with a wink, stroking a smooth-skinned hand from her tailbone, under her ass, all the way to her throat. He wrapped a hand around her neck, and squeezed ever so slightly. The rogue’s heartbeat picked up, and he showed off his teeth. “I won’t be gentle next time.”


	8. Lovely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Gadreel was the only one to command respect from Damran. She had command over nearly three thousand guild members, spread across the continents and even over Draenor and the Outlands. Damran, by comparison, only had several hundred voices, and so bowed her head to the Guild Master. Scaril could command Damran, but only because she was a High Warlock. And Damran liked to fight the binding, pull against her collar and drag Scaril through the mud. It was a game they played, a dangerous one sometimes when Damran felt like it.

“Damran.” Gadreel’s voice was quiet. She didn’t need to be loud.

“Gadreel. You have something for me?”

“Spies. Again. You know what to do.”

Gadreel wore some of the best armour ever crafted, made from bits of Deathwing’s carcass. The helm was in the shape of the fallen aspect’s own head, and the armour still glowed like magma. It would protect her well into the next several centuries, if she were to live that long.  
Damran took the papers, read some of the information, and grinned. “I can do this. Do you want me to return to you afterward?”

“Not this time.”

Damran bowed their head for a moment in acquiescence. Many faulted Gadreel for keeping the monster around, but Damran was useful, could do things no one else had the stomach for. And Titans knew they needed every advantage. Sometimes, when Gadreel’s blood ran hot, Damran serviced her. Not this time. They’d return to give a report, but Gadreel was good for now. 

Damran found his targets just outside the city. A handful of Horde spies. Goblins, mostly. A Forsaken and a Blood Elf. The goblins were pitifully small compared to Damran and they ended up in pieces, bloody chunks littering the ground. The Forsaken didn’t feel anything, and Damran had fun juggling the parts and using them while the Blood Elf watched. And then, cock still hard and covered in a Forsaken’s bodily fluids, she took the elf. He held back any noise, barely crying but burning with shame.

“You’re good at this,” Damran praised. “I don’t like screamers, lovely. It’s good you’re not a screamer. Pierces my ears and makes me angry. I could get to like you. Would you like to live? I’m not always so rough. I can be gentle, reward a good slave. Tonight I want it rough, but other nights I might want it gentle, nice and slow. I could make you feel good, lovely.” She changed her angle and hit his prostate, slightly higher than it was in humans but lower than in an orc, and he had to bite a hole in his lip to keep back his voice.

“You are worse than anything I have ever seen, even in undeath,” the Forsaken’s skull said.

“I know.” Damran grinned, and turned her head too far for a human to look at the Forsaken’s remains. The eye slits in his helm glowed a bright fel green, the same colour as the Blood Elf’s eyes. “I love it.”

She leaned into the elf as he came on the grass, and she kept rutting him. “I could stop, you know,” she said conversationally. “If you asked nicely. But then you’d have to keep asking, every night. If you asked me to be gentle I would be, lovely. Or I can keep going. I can keep going for a long time. Long past you dying of thirst. In about four days, likely. Blood Elves tend to last longer than humans. I like that in you.”

“Please,” he croaked, finally speaking past the blood in his mouth. “Please stop. I ask, I beg you. Please stop.”

Damran sighed theatrically, and pulled out suddenly. It left him off-balance and he fell forward. He didn’t move, likely in shock. “I’m a little disappointed, but I can always find someone else. You are coming with me. I have my own little place in the guild, you know. Not many like me, but that’s okay. I don’t need them to like me. It’s better they don’t, I like the smell. Gadreel will understand. You can lounge about all day. But don’t lose this nice body of yours.” She picked him up by balling her fist into the back of his tunic, and raised him off the ground without any effort. He watched her, ghost-eyed and staring. “What’s your name?” Her helm opened, splitting through the center over her nose and moving to the sides. 

The elf saw her face, her eyes, and surrendered. She could smell the fear being replaced by arousal, could hear the strength in his spirit fade. And she smiled, bringing the demons back into herself. They had done their job and melted him down; now she was going to reshape him.

“Ellonara.”

“Ellonara. Lovely. That’s my name for you. When I call, “Lovely”, you come running. I’ll take you however you ask, but when I want to take you I will, and you will not scream. I suggest you never ask me to stop because then I won’t listen to how you asked me to take you. Say Yes, Damran.”

“Yes, Damran.”

“Good.” She bared her teeth, and without prompt her helm closed. The Forsaken was still alive, in its own unique way, and she sucked the soul from the rotting flesh and consumed it like fuel in a fire.


	9. Generosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Gadreel wasn’t pleased she had brought Lovely back, but couldn’t say no because Lovely said he wanted to be there. It was his choice.

“Now remember,” Damran said, reattaching the cod piece of her armour. It wasn’t so exaggerated as a cod piece, but that’s what it was. Lovely was lounging in his bed, new and blood red, and it was clear he had no energy after Damran had taken him again, slowly and with oil like he had asked. But he listened, because Damran was speaking. “You keep that body in the shape it’s in. You have free run of the compound as long as you wear that tabard. It’s my symbol. No one will touch you or speak to you, so feel free to wander. Don’t leave the compound because then someone will kill you, and I won’t be pleased. Come here.” She removed the codpiece again, and he summoned the energy to stagger over to her. He kneeled, staring at her semi-flaccid cock. “Suck it. With feeling. Like it’s the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth. Likely, it is.”

He obeyed, and somewhere in the back of his tired mind he was thankful that Damran always gave him the option to choose how to be taken. Whether it was his backside or his mouth. He hummed around Damran’s cock and earned an appreciative groan, and smiled around Damran’s cock. He was doing well.

Damran’s hand curled into his long, silky red hair, but simply held and didn’t control. That was Damran’s gift to him. Damran would take when he wanted, but he would take the way Lovely wanted. That was Damran’s generosity. One day, Lovely would ask to be pleasured, and he thought Damran might do it, or might say something like... “I didn’t hear you. Repeat?” and he’d know not to ask again.

“You want something,” Damran said. Somehow, she could read his thoughts. He hummed in agreement, and they came down his throat. “I’m going to take you. Tell me how you want it.”

“I want to be pleasured,” he said quietly, swallowing the last of Damran’s release and cleaning their cock with his tongue.

“Oh,” Damran crooned. “You want to give this time, hm? Well, since you’re being so good, Lovely, I will. Don’t ask for this too often, mind. But this time I can oblige, since it will be so long since you’ll see me again.”

Damran had him lay on the bed, and he discovered that she had a cock, but they also had a vagina, and Damran first used their vagina and then their anus and Lovely didn’t know where he kept getting energy. He suspected it was Damran’s doing, because he felt the familiar twitch of fel energy on his skin both times he spent himself inside them.

“Now then, since you’re been so good, do you want to be on top? Do you want to be in control this time?” Her voice was lilting, promising, and he nodded. Damran always offered what Damran was prepared to give, and their words were iron bonds. He trusted Damran. If they didn’t say it would be a bad idea, it wouldn’t anger them. “Okay, but you can only use one hole. Choose one.”

He chose the vagina, because it was wet and squeezed his cock. Damran seemed amused, but let him control her like a puppet and moved their hips when he asked for it. He came hard, whole body constricting, and his energy faded. 

“You be good now, Lovely,” Damran soothed, petting his sweaty hair from his face. A hundred voices came from her throat. “Say Yes, Damran.”

“Yes, Damran.”


	10. Spread the Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

A priest stared up at her.

She was a human, a tiny little thing just into her twenties, one of the ones on Gadreel’s list. There were two lists. One held the names of people known to be double agents. The other held ones likely to be double agents. She was on the first list.

“You’ve been naughty,” Damran said, crushing her to the floor with his body over hers. She squeaked, flattened against the stones of the Cathedral. The chamber they were in was tucked away, and rarely visited at these hours. Damran was careful not to hurt the priest, only to make her feel like pain was imminent by the warrior’s weight.

“Please,” the priest said.

“Oh, begging already?” Damran said, helm’s eyes quickly blinking one row at a time. It frightened the priest, who tried to struggle. Damran tossed her helmet aside, grinning malevolently. “Now, now. Don’t start screaming. I hate screamers. Right now you have a chance. If you scream I will not be happy.”

“Please. Please.” She started to cry.

“Why don’t you tell me everything,” Damran said, standing and hauling the priest up by the hips. She set the tiny little woman on the table, and kept her from retreating with a clawed hand on her back. The claws pressed into her robes, a promise, and she curved forward to avoid them. Damran opened her legs with a careless knock of an armoured knee and pressed his hips between them. Too close, if the priest’s fear was any indicator. Damran enjoyed the sight for a moment. “Tell me why I’ve got a list of names with yours on it. Tell me why someone thinks so surely you’re a spy that they sent Damran.”

The name sent a spike of absolute terror through the priest, and it sent a thrill of arousal through Damran. She leaned back and casually removed her cod piece, and rucked up the priest’s skirts. He leaned forward, pressing their erect member against her crotch through her leggings. She started to heave, and Damran watched patiently as she had a panic attack. She calmed eventually.

“Talk to me, sweetling.”

“I have a friend in the Horde a Tauren I met him in Dalaran his outpost was going to be attacked I didn’t want him to die I just sent word to him I didn’t know someone was going to see it I just wanted him to be okay please-”

Damran held her jaw until she fell silent. “Those are traitorous words, sweetling,” Damran whispered, as though sharing a secret. “You could get into some serious trouble for that.”

“Please.” The priest started to sob again.

“I think I’ll let you go,” Damran said, leaning back and reattaching their codpiece. Their helm was in their hand, somehow, though it had been on the other side of the room a moment ago. “Tell everyone who gets sent after them when they try to give information to the enemy. Let them know Damran will come and find them in the night if they try to turn traitor.”

“Yes. I will. Yes. Please. Thank you. Oh, Light.” The priest was crying loudly now, heaving sobs and wracking cries. She was hanging onto the front of his armour, and he bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile.

He held her head and crushed a kiss into her mouth, taking in the acrid hint of bile and the sweet oily taste of fear. She smelled of terror and arousal when Damran released her mouth with a pop, and he smiled. It looked genuine.

“Keep your tongue from wagging, sweetling, and maybe you won’t ever see me again.” He put him helm back on, and turned on his heel to leave.

“Wait!”

“Did you change your mind?” He moved too quickly for her to see. All she knew was that he was suddenly looming over her and her back was against the tabletop.

“No! Please!”

“Then why call to me?” They pricked four little holes into her neck with his claws and they bled bright red. The blood stained the papers on the table. “Keep a mind of that tongue of yours. Not everyone is so nice as me.” He pressed another kiss into her mouth past the open front of his helm, and left her trembling, crying and bleeding. “Remember what I told you to do, sweetling.”


	11. It's a Command Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

A priest was standing in front of her.

He was staring up at her, cautious and curious and there was a hint of fear that tweaked their nose.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said quietly. Respect. It was respect in his voice. He saw her strength. He saw their danger. He respected it. He was a different breed than the usual. “Usually the Cathedral doesn’t get many visitors this time of night.”

“Usually,” Damran agreed. His eyes weren’t visible past his helm, but his head moved smoothly like an oiled machine to follow the priest as he walked around the room. “What are you doing here?”

“I visit the Cathedral when I need peace,” the priest answered. “Like many do.”

“You could just say, “I’m a priest, suck my dick.” No need to get wordy.”

The priest chuckled. “I know who you are,” he said. “You’re acting quite civil compared to what I normally hear of you.”

“It’s a command thing,” Damran said. “Talk to Gadreel, she’d tell you the same thing.”

“Command?” he asked curiously.

“I have hundreds. She has thousands. You have... more than that.” Damran shrugged. “It’s a command thing.”

“People tell me you never lie,” Anduin said, looking up at her. Damran felt his eyes see through her helm. The eight eyes blinked in unison. They glowed red, like the rest of her armour - eight bright points in the wane light that the wall sconces provided.

“I don’t need to.”

“Then, would you tell me something?”

“If you asked nicely.”

“Are you human?”

“Yes.”

“What else are you?”

“A lot of things.”

Anduin’s scent was overpoweringly curious now, even the fear and caution fading. “Tell me?” he asked, eyes bright.

“Why not? But you might not be happy with it.”

“I can handle it. I’m not a child.”

“Didn’t say you were. I’m human, orc, few other races. Lots of demons. You haven’t heard of the day because you’re not a warlock. I don’t suggest you go asking them about it. I’ll tell you about it another time if you’re patient. The day, there was an explosion. Tore open things that shouldn’t be torn open. We are Many and we became One. The Many, Damran. Demonic is such an expressive language. Whole lot of things torn apart and put back together all wrong, the puzzle pieces aren’t fitting and some are missing and someone fucked up, I know who it was and when I get my hands on them, the spell didn’t work, what now? Barely holding them all in check. It’s a command thing.”

Anduin looked vaguely horrified. He was a smart boy, a smart man. He knew exactly what Damran had just said, and while he didn’t understand the context, he understood the meaning of their words and why they were so jumbled. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. Damran was patient. They waited. “Is there any way to help you?” he asked.

“Probably death.” Damran shrugged. “That might cause a whole lot of problems with all the escapees. Humans and orcs die and then their souls go somewhere else. Demons? They latch onto things. You can’t get rid of them. They’re like cockroaches.”

Anduin licked his lips as he thought. “What if there was a way to...?” Damran interrupted him with a hand on the top of his head. He was tall, because he was a Wrynn, but Damran was seven feet on a bad day and towered over him.

“Don’t worry your head about me, Anduin,” she said quietly with one voice. “I’m managing. Tell your father he can stop looking for me.”

Anduin watched her leave. He had recognized that voice, somewhere deep in his mind. He couldn’t place it, and it bothered him. The peace he had sought by visiting the Cathedral eluded him. He returned to the Keep soon after, and woke his father. He felt, in that same deep place, that what Damran had said was important. 

Varian groaned as he sat up. “Anduin, it’s a strange hour to want to chat,” he said.

“I met Damran at the Cathedral.”

The king was suddenly very alert. “I only know of one Damran, and they’re not the kind you want to meet anywhere.”

“They were completely civil,” Anduin said quietly. “And she told me to tell you to stop looking for her.”

Varian’s face paled. He was normally dark, even without a tan, and his scars stood out when the blood left his face. “Who told you that, Anduin?” he said, throwing the blankets off him to stand. He always slept naked. It didn’t bother Anduin. “Who said that to you?”

“I don’t know who she was. Well, I might have at one point, but long ago. She said she was managing. She kept repeating, it’s a command thing.”

The king fell silent, and Anduin left him to his thoughts. It was late, and both were tired. Neither slept.


	12. Warm Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

She was away from the city for four months. Lovely welcomed her back with his mouth, and then bathed her in a floor bath large enough for ten people. He poured odd things that she asked for into the water. Tree sap, rock salt, pig blood, apple seeds, and some dusty substance that smelled like crushed burnt hair that Damran didn’t name.

They relaxed into the water, and Lovely bathed her from the edge of the pool. She tilted her head back, over the edge. Everything was obstructed by steam, and Lovely was unpleasantly sticky in his robe. “You can take that off,” Damran said, tugging the robe’s hem. He obeyed. “Keep on my shoulders. That feels divine.” He was rubbing the muscles with his hands. They were tiny compared to Damran’s massive frame. “Talk to me.”

“I’m familiar with the compound,” he started. “I get looks, some pity, some fear, some disgust. But no one touches me. Like you said. No one talks to me. I don’t mind. I’m not here for them. Gadreel gave me permission for the public library, but only after hours. Vengeance is there sometimes. Vengeance frightens me. But you said no one would touch me. So I don’t mind Vengeance. I found a cat that sometimes wanders about.” He continued on, speaking of inane things.

“I want to take you,” Damran said.

“Not in the water, please. It’s pleasant for you which is good but I don’t like it. A little rough. With oil. Fast. With your hand, too. Against the wall. Or on the pillows.”

“Mm.” She looked up at him, teeth bared. “You’ve been reading the good stuff, haven’t you?”

They listened to his requests, as he knew she would, because Damran doesn’t lie. They took him on the pillows, his legs in the air, and he moaned the whole way through. “Oh, I like that sound,” Damran crooned into his ear, which is why he kept making it. He bled a little, even with the oil, and the pain went straight to his cock and Lovely came twice before Damran. Damran’s semen dripped from his backside as he paced the private bath house. 

Damran kept him walking, watching the semen drip all over the floor with an amused smile. She had him pick things and move them around, and then place them back. Then they had him clean the semen from the floor, and had their way with his mouth. Slow and shallow, he asked, because he wanted to get used to having a cock down his throat and wanted to tame his gag reflex. They obeyed, and so he did. And then they took him from behind, against the wall with his previous specifications. She had him wait, standing, until the semen stopped dripping. It took a while. Damran had Lovely clean that up, and then gave him the rest of the day.

“Come back tonight,” Damran said, swimming across the pool with languid strokes. “I’ll have you again. Think of something nice. Get some toys you like.”

“Yes, Damran.”


	13. Poetic Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

A priest was watching them.

They hadn’t prayed in years. Not since the day. But she felt it was appropriate today. Not for any specific reason. The impulse had risen, so she went to the Cathedral at four in the morning and knelt in a back corner, covered in darkness. A priest watched them warily, book in his hand. They had interrupted his reading.

He knew who they were. He stunk of fear but it was tamed by the familiar tint of the Light. It had responded to his fear and was soothing it over. It recognized her. The priest still watched. 

A few minutes was all it took. It was more meditation than praying. They stood, the maw in their helm opening to show an imitation of demonic fangs. The priest blanched, and they expected him to hurry on his way, but something stopped him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. The bravado in his voice was betrayed by his own trembling knees.

“I thought I’d come by. Isn’t the Cathedral open to anyone?” Damran closed the distance, walking with an unsteady, inhuman, and likely terrifying gait. He stepped back, into the light of the torches, and Damran loomed over him. The maw in their helm snapped shut and the priest winced as though he had been struck. “I’d always gotten that impression.”

“It-it is open to anyone,” he managed to squeeze out. Damran leaned forward, to the side, so that they were looking at the priest at eye level, bent at the waist and curved around him like something vaguely reptilian. “I was wondering why you were here. I’ve heard of you. You’re demonic.”

“Of course I am. I am Damran. Lovely language, that, so literal, you don’t have to explain anything.” He straightened, staring down at the priest. Tremors shook his limbs. “Have a nice day.”

Damran left the Cathedral through the front entrance. They smelled a little fear on the breeze, and went to investigate.

Damran loved irony. If they were a fan of justice, they'd call it poetic justice. They found a man trying to rape his lover, claiming she owed him for the dinners and the pearls and the nice bouquet of flowers. Damran took him bent over the side of the canal bridge and his lover watched in horrified silence. “Don’t scream, now,” Damran warned good-naturedly. He wagged a finger at the woman as blood dripped from her lover’s backside. He had long since lost his voice to a well-placed claw tip that severed his vocal chords. He was very much alive, choking on a bit of blood that dripped into the water below. Damran watched canal crabs scatter from the weeds beneath the bridge.

She left the two, the man broken and bleeding and very much alive, the woman in shock. Damran watched at the woman fled, fetching a city guard. “He was going to rape me,” the woman said quietly when the guard went to aid the man. “Someone very tall, in red armour, came out of nowhere. Like a shadow. They bent him over the bridge and raped him. They seemed so unaffected. Almost cheerful.”

“I know who it is,” the guard said. Damran watched him apply a salve to the man’s neck. “If you want to pursue them, I’m afraid we can’t.”

“I don’t. I never want to see him again, either.” The woman recovered quickly. Damran would have enjoyed breaking her like they broke Lovely. Another time, maybe.


	14. Khadgar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We discover a little more of the forces that created Damran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran was away for several months, in Draenor. The altered timeline presented a very different challenge from the Outlands, and Damran loved to climb the tall stone towers of the Iron Horde and feed on their terror. Sometimes he slipped into the barracks and killed a few dozen of them, every second orc, and would wait until morning to see their reaction. 

Tonight, they were climbing a wall and moving along the ceiling like a spider, limbs moving too smoothly to be human. Their claws left holes in the stone, dust crumbling down to the corpses below. An orc was coming up the stairs, in heavy boots. An officer. He opened the door, jumped back, and then drew his weapon and ran into the room. There were no windows, and only one door. It made sense that the intruder would still be there. Unfortunately for the orc, he was right. 

Damran was on the ceiling, and the only light came from the door behind the orc. The orc looked up, and saw Damran slowly, very smoothly, crawling along the wall towards him. The eyes in their helm were fel green, the maw grinning wickedly. The orc screamed something in Orcish, which Damran understood to be a superstitious curse against demons, and ran down the stairs to alert his fellows. Damran crawled down the ceiling, through the door, and up, up the stone wall to the window high above. He loved doing that.

Damran visited Khadgar after that. They remembered him from the Outlands. Draenor Alpha, some called it, and the same called the new Draenor by the name Draenor Beta. Timeline one and timeline two.

“Show yourself,” Khadgar said quietly, holding spells at the ready.

“Well now, what a welcome that is for an old friend.” Damran, with many voices, greeted him. “Hello there, Khadgar.” She stepped into the light cast by a magelight.

“You.” His eyes were wide, and knowing. “But... no. That can’t be right.” The spells faded. If Damran wasn’t in control they would have taken advantage of that. “It’s you, and... another you. I recognize several of you. What happened to you?”

“It’s a long story.” Damran shrugged, and pulled of her helm. “But still a good one.” Her eyes were bright red, glowing with a warrior’s fury. Khadgar’s face crumpled into one of deep sorrow and regret. “Aw, come now,” Damran crooned with one voice. A female one. “I think I’m doing an okay job, here. All considering.”

“How is it you are able to control so many?” Khadgar asked, approaching. He was cautious, but he recognized her. He knew her.

“It’s a command thing,” she shrugged. The words made the mage wince. “Got anything to eat?”

“I can conjure something.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

They sat and ate in silence. Khadgar’s eyes saw more than any human had right to. His power echoed in Damran’s ribcage and they bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Having fun?” they asked.

“No. But I think I understand what happened.”

“I know exactly what happened. It’s taken years to get this far.”

“I can see that.” Khadgar sighed, and picked up a mana strudel. “You have done very well. Better than any could have ever expected, let alone hoped. I don’t understand how you were able to do it so well. To meld all of those pieces...”

“The puzzle pieces don’t fit. Cut ‘em up, move ‘em around. Make ‘em stick.” A male voice and several whispers echoed under her voice. They shrugged. “It works.”

“I’ve heard horrible things about you, Damran,” Khadgar said.

“Likely all true.” She smiled. “I like being me.”

“You are not as you were.”

“Of fucking course not.” It was a male voice now, still with the whispers. “None of us are. You think I like being in this? A fucking abomination? At least she makes it tolerable.” Another male voice, a tenor instead of the previous baritone. It was calmer, smoother. “She has a strong will. If it weren’t for her they would have ripped the rest of us apart, used corpses as vessels and us as power sources. This is better than the alternative.” Damran’s main voice, the one Khadgar knew so well, took its turn again. It was stronger than the others. “At the very least, I can direct them. At first, I couldn’t do anything. I got a hold of one at a time. We love to hurt people. Love the smell of fear, and even more, of terror. It’s sweet and oily. Tastes lovely. I can feel when their spirits break. But I can direct it. No one we touch is innocent.”

“I heard of a woman whose brother was dismembered violently,” Khadgar said, sipping his wine. “Her other brother was found a mile away with blood pouring from his backside, dead. His semen was inside her.”

“Murder,” Damran said. “She caused a hell of a lot worse than what we did to her.”

“And her brothers?”

“One’s a pedophile.” She grinned and Khadgar sensed a soul, not one of Damran’s voices, flash to the surface. It was tortured and felt awful against his magic and he shuddered, leaning back.

“Please don’t do that again,” he said. “It’s highly unpleasant.”

Damran shrugged. “The other took joy in showing people their innards. Fucked up, that family was.”

“I see. I suppose I will have to trust your ability to command.”

“Like the good ol’ days, eh?” Damran said. They rose to her feet. “I’ll be going now. Heading back to Azeroth. I think I’ll check in, it’s been a few months.”

Khadgar watched them go. “Damran,” he said when they reached the door. “If I think of something...”

“You won’t think of anything we haven’t thought of,” Damran answered in one voice, unrecognizable. “We have hundreds. You are one. Don’t worry about me,” her voice said. “And make sure Varian isn’t still looking for me. He’s not going to find me.”

“I will send word,” Khadgar promised. “And if you’re interested in good old fashioned slaughter, we could use another sword tomorrow at the Foundry.”

“I’ll see if I feel like it. I might clear the way, might take care of a few things. Who knows?”


	15. No.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Damran respects "No" then you should too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

A priest was watching her.

Damran seemed like a demon one moment, and then like a human the next. The priest remembered her last visit, remembered the sheer terror he had felt. The fear, the confusion. The eyes. He shuddered.

“You again?”

He yelped and spun, looking up - and up, and up - at Damran’s face. Her helm was open, revealing bright red eyes, and a twitching nose. “You smell nice,” they ground, and he stepped back.

“Welcome to the Cathedral,” he said, trying for bravery. Damran advanced with every step he took back, until his back was to the wall. He regretted standing so close to a corner. No one could see them unless they thought to look.

Damran leaned forward to sniff under his chin. He didn’t understand how they could contort themselves like that. It was grotesque. He kept expecting to hear bones cracking every time they moved like that. “Would you like me to take you?” Damran murmured against his throat, and he swallowed thickly. “Hm. Too bad.” Their face moved to his clavicle, and he shivered, trying to press back into the stone. “Your body does, but you don’t. Terrible waste.”

“What do you want from me?” he squeaked.

“You smell nice. Priests smell nice.”

He calmed his breathing while they explored him. There was no better word for it. Their nose touched every exposed bit of skin, and their hands went over his shoulder, over his back and chest and around his crotch, everywhere, no matter how awkward the pose. He supposed he should have been grateful they left his clothes on, and didn’t take him like he’d heard they took everyone. Damran’s nose returned to his throat, sniffing like a dog, and he was a bit calmer that time. “You sure you don’t want me to take you?” Damran said, sniffing below his ear. “You’d enjoy it. We could invite that pretty one you like.”

“How do you...?”

“I can smell it. You’re thinking of him right now. You think that’s creepy. I suppose it is.”

“If I say yes will you leave me alone?”

“If you say no I might leave you alone. But you smell so nice. If you say yes you’d see me constantly for the next few days. And that pretty one, the man you’re eyeing. He might not like me much.”

“No,” the priest said. “No. I don’t want it.”

Damran sighed against his ear. “Too bad,” they murmured. They repeated the same cycle, hands all over his body and nose against every inch of exposed skin. And then they left him sagging against the wall in complete and utter relief.

“Thank the Light,” he said, hiding his erection with his book while he scurried to the washroom.


	16. On and Off the Battlefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran visited Lovely after that. The elf welcomed them back, offered himself. “Would you like my mouth?” he said. “Or my ass?”

“Hm. Fill the pool with hot water. Pour in... Let’s see.” Damran sniffed at his hair. “Silverleaf oil. Earthroot. Mm.” He absently made circles on Lovely’s naked skin with his fingertips. “What do you like?”

“I like Azshara’s Veil, Damran.”

“Put that in too. And a container of rock salt.”

“Yes, Damran.”

Damran took him in the nest, the corner full of pillows and blankets on a mattress in the floor. “How do you want it?” Damran asked. Lovely was on his arms and knees, his backside pressing insistently into Damran’s crotch. Both were naked. Damran was so much larger that the elf was barely visible.

“Very slow. Very gentle. Please make me cry for it. With oil. And then may I take you? And then eat my semen out of you?”

“Mm, we’ll see about the second one. Maybe after the bath.”

“Yes, Damran.”

Damran teased him for twenty minutes, and he begged her for her cock. They obliged, and fucked Lovely very slowly, very gently, almost too gently. He begged, cried for more, cried and sobbed for release. It took the rest of the hour for Damran to be satisfied and then they angled up, brushing Lovely’s prostate slowly and gently and when the elf came he shuddered and twitched through an orgasm for a good few minutes.

Damran left him to recover as they ate the lavish meal brought in by the guild’s well-paid servants. Then Damran fed him a bit, and brought him into the bath.

“The bath is nice,” Lovely said, sitting on Damran. Their cock was erect, hard against his backside. Lovely enjoyed making it erect. “I like this bath, I didn’t like the other. It stunk of blood.”

“That was the point,” Damran said, amused, and fed him morsels.

Then Damran let Lovely take them, the elf’s cock leaving thick white release in their vagina. Damran watched, braced on their elbows, as he licked up as much as he could. The two ate the rest of the food, and Damran took him again, hard and fast on his back with his legs open wide.

They left Lovely in the bed, content and near sleep. They went to see Gadreel. They could smell her blood, hot and full of a warrior’s energy. Gadreel liked to fight like a demon, liked to let loose and roar and scream and crush and punish and roll over the enemy like the unstoppable tide of Death. But she liked to have sex like it was the morning after, gentle and slow with soft hands and quite voices. Damran obliged. They obeyed.

Gadreel spent her fury on the battlefield but what was left needed to be spent, too. Damran obliged. Their hands took care on Gadreel’s war-ravaged body, and their mouths left hot trails over scars and calluses. Gadreel’s life was full of barked orders and open wounds. The rest of the time, she wanted something soft, something that took care like she was much more delicate than she actually was. Damran obliged.

“Damran,” Gadreel sighed. Her skin was pale, milk-white from spending all of her time in armour. It was flushed from her ears to her thighs, and sweat matted the hair along her body. Damran’s mouth was at her vulva, hot and slow against it. She had soaked the sheets under her already. Damran’s cock was large enough to cause pain very easily and that wasn’t the point this time. When they were above Gadreel, the warrior’s hand went down to guide them in, and slowly Damran slid into her slick heat. Gadreel breathed a moan, and Damran wrapped their arms around her, moving slowly in a perfect imitation of a loving partner. It was exactly what Gadreel needed. The Guild Master dug her heels into Damran’s lower back when she came, moaning and clenching and twitching. Damran didn’t come. Not yet.

Damran spent most of the night with Gadreel, letting the Guild Master let out everything that had been left when the fury was spent on the battlefield like blood. When Gadreel was done, when she was at her last orgasm, when she was finished and was ready to stop and sleep, Damran came inside her, like they knew Gadreel liked, for the fourth and final time. 

Gadreel’s body was no longer equipped to have children. Which was good, because it wasn’t what she wanted, and her favourite fantasy was a husband impregnating his wife. Damran obliged, speaking in a male voice throughout the night. Damran cleaned her up, left her to sleep, and returned to Lovely to have him again. He had been practicing, wanted to show Damran how far he could take them down his throat without gagging.

Damran didn’t need to sleep. Damran never slept. They visited several others whose scents permeated the air. One smelled like she wanted it, and she did want it, but she didn’t. Damran let her be. Another wanted it despite being on her monthly. Wanted it because she was on her monthly. Wanted to be kissed like she was being consumed while being fucked. Damran obliged her, and the other two women, and the two men. And when the sun was rising she was on top of a man, who was inside another man, and both were greatly enjoying it.

One, the one who had been between then, spoke as she left. He was wiping sweat off his face, and had a satisfied smile. “That’s one advantage to having you around,” he said. “Besides the whole demonic terror of our enemies thing.”

Damran smiled, and it looked genuine. “It’s a good thing you have me, and not someone else. If someone else had me I wouldn’t be so nice.”

He went and found Lovely again, and had Lovely take him from behind, in the anus and not the vagina this time. He had Lovely talk dirty, and Lovely obliged. He loved to please Damran.


	17. I Ain't a Fixer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more info on how, exactly, Damran works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Gadreel was the link between Damran and anyone who wanted Damran’s service, but didn’t feel like exposing themselves to the danger Damran presented to everyone.

“SI:7 wants you to care take of this,” Gadreel said, handing over a plain folder with a few sheets of paper. “They want it to be obvious it was you. They want the Iron Horde to know you just like everyone in Azeroth knows you.”

“Oh, this looks fun,” Damran said. A whole base, full of orcs male and female, and wolves. Full license to do whatever she wished, so long as all were dead between sundown and sunup. Estimated that there were sixty orcs, and half as many wolves. “I like this kind of thing. Why I can’t do this more often eludes me.”

“It’s because you’re shit-your-pants terrifying and no one wants to touch you with a thousand-yard pole,” Gadreel said blandly. “Take whatever you need. Leave whenever. You know what you’re doing.”

“Mm.” Damran cocked their head to the side. “I think, in a day. I hear someone.”

“You need to find better words for it,” Gadreel said. “It’s confusing when you say you hear someone but you’re hearing their soul, or whatever. Same thing with the smelling thing.”

“I’ll try.” Damran licked their lips. “They’re loud.”

Damran found the person in the gardens of the Mage District. They were quiet this morning, as it was a week day and everyone was busy elsewhere. 

A priest was watching her.

The woman - well, actually, she wasn’t a woman. Not yet. She had a roll of fat over very wide hips, birthing hips, and heavy breasts that strained against her robes. She didn’t look like a not-yet-a-woman, which probably caused no end of trouble for her.

“Are you Damran?” she asked quietly.

“Normally people don’t wait and find out,” Damran said. He was wearing his armour, a demonic exoskeleton. It was mostly red with some black, all wicked edges and sharp painful things. His helm’s maw was left open today, grinning with fire in its throat. The eight green eyes blinked at her, one at a time. It made the priest uneasy, but she kept going. Brave echoed in Damran’s skull. “And normally, people don’t call out to me. Unless they have a job. Or unless they are severely masochistic, maybe suicidal.”

“I know what you do,” the girl said. “Can you fix me?”

“Hon, you ain’t broken.” Damran was standing straight today, with human posture. 

“I don’t want the things I’m supposed to want,” the priest said. “Something’s missing, or broken. You know all about this kind of thing. Please. I can pay. I can...” she swallowed.

“Hon,” Damran said, kneeling in front of her. The girl was barely five feet tall, and Damran was over seven. It didn’t make much of a difference, but the girl didn’t have to strain her neck to look at Damran’s helm. The maw was closed now, and the eyes blinked in unison. “You ain’t broken,” Damran repeated. “You just don’t have that. Not everyone feel sexual attraction. Likely you can still really enjoy a good romp. Actually,” Damran said, and their helm opened. “It’s good you don’t have that drive. We would’ve taken you right here whether or not you wanted it, because you called and hell, we ain’t gonna refuse that. But there’s no drive. Nothing to grab.”

“What do you mean?” The priest was confused now, instead of scared. Damran didn’t seem so big, anymore. Less a nightmare, and more a foggy dream, half-remembered and vaguely terrifying. A beast instead of a monster. 

“You don’t have a sexual drive, no sexual attraction felt,” Damran said. “So there’s nothing to latch on to. Nothing to corrupt and feed off of.”

“Oh. But...” The girl hesitated. “I wanted you to fix me.”

“You ain’t broken.” Damran stood, looking down at the priest. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Tanith,” she said.

“How old are you, Tanith?”

“I’m eighteen today.”

“Why the fuck would you call me instead of someone less likely to show you your own innards and then fuck them while you died?”

Tanith’s blood rushed from her face at that.

“You weren’t thinking, that’s why,” Damran said. “Next time, think it through.” Damran leaned down and kissed Tanith hotly, leaving her blushing and holding back her panting breath. “You ain’t broken, Tanith,” Damran said, and their helm snapped shut. “You’re just different. That’s what saved your hide from being flayed.”


	18. WE are angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran always had fun in Draenor. The orcs were never sure what to do with her. But this time she wasn’t having fun. This time she was angry.

Someone had defiled the standard of the Glory Seekers.

No one was allowed to touch the Glory Seekers.

They belonged to Damran.

She left a present for the Iron Horde. One hundred and fifty-six corpses. Each one beheaded, the heads pierced with a spear and then a chain run through the holes to string them up over the gates of the garrison. The bodies decorated the garrison as though they were still alive, held up with demonic spells until rigor mortis set in. The wolves were treated similarly, but it was their paws, four per beast, that were used to artfully decorate the two towers between which hung the heads. The beasts were skinned, their pelts laid out to blanket the ground, and the bodies were left complete, minus paws, in the stables. Again, held up with demonic spells until rigor mortis took effect.

And to make sure they knew exactly why it had happened, Damran waited for them at the gates. They had their pole arm in hand, a foot-long blade topping a staff, together creating a weapon nearly as long as they were tall. It was red, even under the blood, and curved wickedly like a demon’s talon. It glowed with the echoes of fire and whispered with hundreds of voices when someone listened too closely. The helm’s maw was open, the eyes bright green, and they were waiting.

A party of war-riders approached on the backs of their great wolves, and the leader saw well in advance what awaited them. Bravely, or perhaps stupidly, he approached Damran.

“Who are you?” he spat in Orcish. “What are you, and what happened here?”

“Someone fucked up,” Damran answered in an orc’s voice, in perfect Orcish. “Someone fucked with the Glory Seekers. I am Damran. I am Many, and we are One. The banner of the Glory Seekers, defiled. Torn and burnt, oh boy, someone’s going to suffer. They are ours, no one else may touch them. The banner’s being burned. Someone must pay. We are angry. I am Damran. No one fucks with my guild, you hear me? You’re gonna pay for that one, friend. I will not tolerate this! They must be avenged. Show them the meaning of fear. We are angry.”

A dozen different voices spoke through Damran, and the orc grew more and more horrified until, at one point, he simply turned his wolf around and returned to his group. Damran heard him speak. “Call for reinforcements! This one, it calls itself Damran. It must be demonic, for it speaks with many voices. Call for shaman, call for breakers, call for everything! We must retake the base!”

Damran landed on his back, using both hands to dig into his chest cavity and pull out his lungs. His soldiers, well-trained but too brave, tried to fight Damran. Each ended up missing some integral part of their body.

Damran kept one alive. A female, angrier than she was afraid. The orc spat on Damran’s helm and the heat from the armour made it sizzle. The orc paled when Damran took off their helm and smiled.

“We are Damran,” they said. “I am Many. We are One. Tell your Iron Horde that we are angry. Tell them to fear us.”

Damran pinned the orc down with a spear through her harness, careful not to injure her too badly. Damran wanted her to be able to run back to the main base. While the orc tried to free herself in ever-growing panic, Damran had her way with the corpses, tearing into them, eating some parts and fucking others. Some of the orcs were still alive, barely, and were punished for their late deaths with humiliation and pain. The female orc, for a time, couldn’t use her hands properly, and was forced to witness the suffering of her fellows. When she did get free, she did the smart thing and ran as fast and as far as she could. Damran called out behind her in Orcish.

“We are Damran!” they called in unison. “We will find you!”

The orc saw the trees shiver as she ducked into the woods.


	19. Their Own Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mak'gora - duel to the death, usually for leadership of a group/clan.  
> Mak'rogahn - challenge to prove worth, not to the death but until one surrenders or until neither party can continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran spent four months in Draenor. That female orc had piqued her interest and after the feast at the Iron Horde garrison she decided to haunt her.

Demons could cloak themselves, and Damran had many demons. She used them, watching from the walls and ceilings as the female orc tried to put the past behind her. She was promoted for her bravery, and grew increasingly paranoid. Sometimes Damran would disturb her sleep, or whisper in her ear when she was alone.

Tonight, Damran took everyone around her.

Demonic spells were useful. Damran also had a handful of mages and warlocks and she used them, commanded and they obliged by pinning everyone in place and freezing their voices. Damran took every one of them, two dozen orcs under the female’s command. The males, he used their mouths and their asses and left semen in every one. The females, he used both holes and tore them open. She felt their fear, their shame, basked in it and laughed. And then she broke all of their tusks, leaving them in a pile in the center of the room.

She crawled up a wall, onto the dark ceiling and cloaked herself. They released the orcs, and each reacted differently. Damran wanted to watch them all, but they only had eight eyes.

Some vomited. Some screamed in rage and helplessness. The female stomped down the stairs and when she saw the pile of tusks, she knew why Damran was here.

“Damran!” she roared. “Show yourself! Coward! You hide behind shadows and magic because you know you are too weak to face me!”

Damran laughed and it echoed in the hall. Some of the orcs groaned and curled into balls, covering their ears. She decided to leave them all alive and see how they all fared. “Do you wish to fight me?” Damran asked in many voices. “A duel for the honour of your soldiers? Avenge them as I have avenged my banner. Or perhaps you’d prefer a mak’gora because you cannot take the shame of defeat.”

“Fight me, you coward!” the female screamed. “A mak’gora! I challenge you, filth, not-orc, demon! I will kill you with my bare hands!”

“You should pick a weapon, at least,” Damran whispered into her ear. The female spun, but Damran was not there. “Maybe it would be fair if you brought an army. No, I will not fight in the mak’gora. I don’t want your pathetic soldiers. But I will duel you. Without armour, without a weapon. A mak’rogahn.”

“Then we will fight,” the female vowed. “And I will destroy you for what you have done.”

They fought at dawn. The humiliated soldiers, most limping badly, gathered to watch. They depended on the female to avenge them and restore their honour, as she was their commander and held that right. 

She did not win. Damran ended the fight by holding her in the air with a hand around her throat. Damran was completely nude, not even bothering with the loincloth provided for both combatants. Their muscular body was completely devoid of scars, discolorations, freckles, or birthmarks, and was lined with dark hairs that were raised in the chilled air. They had the features of a male and a female. And the orcs could only look on as their leader was defeated with asphyxiation.

“Not even erotic,” Damran mumbled, dropping the orc like a sack of potatoes. “Does anyone else want to try?” they called, smiling. “I promise to be fair. No demonic tricks or magic. I don’t lie. I don’t need to.”

One orc stepped forward, and kneeled. “I ask for death,” he said.

“Why? You can live and recover.” Damran was still smiling. It didn’t reach her eyes, but these orcs were not familiar enough with humans to see that.

“I cannot live with this,” he said.

“Yes you can. You’re doing it now.”

“I ask for death.”

“Then do it yourself. I’m not your nursemaid.” Damran gave the female a solid kick, rolling her out of the ring. “If you wanna fight I’ll do that.”

“Mak’gora!” he cried.

“Nope.”

“Then there is no point in fighting. Kill me.”

“How about this?” Damran said, pretending to think. “You join the Azerothian Horde. They all know me pretty well. Tell them everything you know about the Iron Horde. They’ll likely welcome you with open arms. Likely. Be cautious when approaching them. Go to them, join them. Become Horde. And warn every single person you come across to never deface a Glory Seekers banner like your officer’s officer once did.”

The orc looked up at their face. “Kill me,” he tried once more.

“No.”

“Then there is no choice but to obey you.” He stood. Another orc approached. A male.

“What are you?” he asked. “So that we may know what has taken our honour. Our strength.”

“I am Damran,” they answered. “One, and Many. Hundreds, in one body. Azeroth knows us well.” Damran smiled and spoke with all of their voices, in discordant unity. “We are Damran.”


	20. Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More on Damran's inner workings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran visited Khadgar again, briefly. He had heard what had happened to the orcs she left behind. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered, opening the door to let her in. “You’ve changed, Damran. I barely recognize any of you.”

“We’re one, now, as well as many,” she said, removing her weapon harness and laying her pole arm lovingly against a wall. “Got any food?”

He conjured some food for her, and offered wine. “I don’t want to think of the things you’ve done,” Khadgar sighed, leaning into his chair. “But I can’t do that. I was your friend, once. I remember you as a beacon of morality and fairness, not... this.” He gestured to her. She shrugged.

“Doesn’t bother me, don’t let it bother you. Besides.” She finished her mana cake. “I give faces to the things people think about. I’m the worst thing they can think of. I’m the evil they all fear in themselves. I give it a way out, suck out the poison. Bleed out the pus in the wound. Many sleep better at night knowing that I’m the worst thing out there, and Gadreel’s got a good hold on me. They still fear to meet me,” she said. “But they’re confident I’ve got a leash around my neck with a strong handler on the other end. And I like it.” She grinned. “You know, there was a young priestess, just turned eighteen. I heard her soul calling. She knew how to call me. I answered. You know what?”

“What?” Khadgar asked.

“I didn’t feel a thing.” Damran sighed. “It was nice. Quiet. Nothing to grab onto. I mean, there was still fear, and anger, and all those nice things. But with things that reproduce sexually it’s always the worst thing they can think of, to be raped, used, broken. There’s always other nice things. But she was asexual. Nothing to latch on to, nothing to corrupt. People think physical rape is the worst thing that can be done. They imagine physical wounds when you ask what pain is.” Damran sighed again, finishing her wine. “It was nice and quiet, compared to the usual.”

Khadgar listened, and refilled her wine glass. “What will you do?”

“I want to go find that girl again. See how pretty she is inside. But I won’t. Maybe I’ll tell Gadreel to warn her off. She seems the kind who thinks she can tame the beast without seeing the monster. I’d gladly oblige her, but she wouldn’t like the end to that fairy tale. Too young, anyway. Hasn’t seen enough of it yet. Gadreel could convince her, she’s good at that sort of thing. You know what?”

“What?”

“Vengeance is silent to me. That’s why I like them.”

“I’ve heard very little about Vengeance,” Khadgar prompted.

“They’re a Retribution paladin. Used to be a she, used to be a healer. Something cracked open when she was in Icecrown and now they’ve no semblance of gender, sexuality, individuality. They took vows I didn’t hear and don’t really care to. They are Vengeance now. They use sign language. They’re kinda boring at parties, but nice and silent. I can hear myself think around them. Maybe it’s the Light. They’re never out of their armour. I think Gadreel’s the only one who’s seen them without it, and that was only to swear them into the guild, and then as a manager. Maybe Tinise’s seen them, but they’re both paladins and Vengeance got tore up pretty bad a while ago. Tinise’s a healer. Regular guild member, hell of a trumpet player.”

Khadgar listened to them ramble, and refilled Damran’s wine again when she emptied her glass. “Why are they silent?”

“Because they let all of that go. All of the noise that made them human. Now they’re paladin, they’re retribution, they’re justice, they’re Light, they’re Vengeance. They gave up their body to something bigger, using it to enforce vengeance. They’re Vengeance now.”

“I understand.”

“I knew you would. Mages can think abstract better than anyone else. Except druids. That Emerald Dream thing fucks me up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damran grew into something bigger than originally intended: at first I just wanted a character who liked to hurt people, so different from my usual. Now they're this full-fledged OC with a tragic backstory and everything. Hoo boy.


	21. Less Many, More One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More on the day, and some more development for Damran. Long chapter with some Wrynns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran returned to Azeroth, and Lovely was asleep because it was two in the morning. Damran slipped into the room, removed their armour and smalls, and slipped into the bed, curling around Lovely. He was nice, hard muscle and soft skin and silky hair and scars.

“Damran?” he mumbled.

“Shh, be still.” Damran opened his legs, smoothed oil around and in his ass. “How do you want it?”

“Very slow. Sleepy.”

She obliged, slipping in with practiced movements and taking care not to disturb him too much. She brought a cloth to him when he came, to spare him sticky sheets, and didn’t bother to finish. She cleaned off the oil, and left him to sleep.

She visited the woman who did and did but didn’t want her last time. A druid, a Frostbreath, Banelix’s sister. Commander Bane, who still considered herself a Glory Seeker but belonged to the Alliance as a whole now.

“Syllwing,” Damran sang quietly. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.” The druid’s eyes were glowing, as all night elf eyes did. “Come in.”

“You wanted but didn’t want me last time. Have you changed your mind?”

“Yes.”

Damran smiled when they heard Syllwing’s fantasies playing in the druid’s mind. “I can do that, certainly. No wonder you wanted me.”

Syllwing wanted to be taken in cat form, and then in bear form, and then in stag form and then in her regular form. Damran obliged and left her a tired, sweaty mess on her bed. “Kinky,” the warrior said, redressing in casual clothes. “Don’t call me again. I’ll skin you alive while I fuck you in cat form.”

“Okay.” The druid was asleep when Damran left.

Damran visited the prince, because she felt a tug from some other part of her. The young man was awake at his desk, doing princely things, and looked like he had been awake all night. “You should sleep,” Damran said while crawling in through the open window. She flipped off the ceiling, heard Anduin yelp in surprise, and when she landed on the floor, he was reassuring the guards that he had just been startled by a mouser cat.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, and I’m only nineteen.”

Damran smirked. “Better you than your father, then.” She shrugged. “I felt like visiting. If you ask, I’ll leave.”

“No,” Anduin answered immediately. He seemed to register that she was in regular clothing. “I’ve never seen you without your armour. How are you so tall?”

She shrugged. “Abomination thing, I’d say. What’re you doing still up?”

“I lost track of time,” Anduin said sheepishly, looking at the clock on his wall. “I thought it was closer to eleven at night.”

“You should be sleeping,” Damran said, herding him towards his bedroom. “Whatever it is can wait until morning, when you can do it properly.”

“Why do you care?” Anduin asked. “Not to be callous,” he quickly added. “It’s just not my experience that you are... caring.”

“Not usually,” Damran said. “I’ve gotten a better handle on them. I can be more One instead of Many now. And you’re exhausted.”

She managed to get him to lie down. He had already changed into his sleep clothes, thankfully, and when she crawled back out of the window he was asleep.

She visited Varian. “Damran,” he greeted cautiously, standing ready for a fight. He had heard her coming along the outside wall. His senses were sharper than she remembered.

“Hey,” she greeted, pulling herself up through the window and sitting on the sill, her feet on the floor. “What’s up?”

“I always wondered why I couldn’t find a body,” he said, posture easing when he saw she wasn’t a threat. For the night. “We had everyone else’s corpse, even some we didn’t know. But we couldn’t find Knight-Captain Delma Tierney.”

Damran tilted her head. “Been a while since I’ve heard that name,” she said. “Sorry to have worried you, sir.”

Varian laughed, and it was a bitter noise that grated Damran’s ears. In response, they snarled, shaking their head to dislodge the echo. “Sorry to have worried me?” he said. “Your death is one item in a long list of things I shouldn’t have let happen.”

“You can’t do everything, Varian,” Damran answered as they walked further into the room. “We are hundreds, and not even we can do everything. You’re only one.” Damran faced him. “I don’t blame you.”

“You should. I am king. It’s my responsibility.” He was going to continue, but when Damran was suddenly too close, their hand over his mouth, he fell silent. He had barely kept from reacting violently.

“It was responsibility to guard the portal, and I failed,” Damran said. “Now I’m keeping the rest of them in check. That’s my new duty. Your duty is to keep moving forward with the rest of the kingdom. Leave the fallen to their fate.”

“It’s not that simple,” Varian murmured. Damran removed her hand. “You were one of few I could call friend,” he said quietly. “I let you die.”

“You weren’t a god last I checked,” Damran said.

“I am the king.”

“You were barely grown. I was an officer, and friend or not, it was not your responsibility.”

“I still feel that,” Varian said. “You said the rest of them. What does that mean?”

“Everyone else who was caught in the blast.”

“The mages, too? The warlocks? Can you tell me what they were trying to do?”

“They were trying to harness the power of the portal. Beyond that, even they’ve forgotten. Obviously it went wrong.”

Damran didn’t regret visiting Varian and opening old wounds. He was full of regrets and opening the wound let the pus drain out. She would have taken him, rough and snarling, to give him an outlet he sorely needed - but not tonight.

She went back to Lovely, because it was morning now. He was a broken man, remade according to Damran’s wishes, and she took him carefully, as a friend, to reward him. With Gadreel, they pretended to be a lover, pretended to caress gently and care. With Lovely, this time, Damran took hold of everything, exhausted herself and was his for an hour. Afterwards, she slipped away and lost control for a few brief and terrifying moments, when she was nearly pulled to pieces and had to depend on Scaril to hold them back until Damran could refasten the leashes. Lovely could never be who he once was. Damran, unable to regret, simply started the process of making him something new.

“You’re fucked up,” Scaril commented lightly, watching Damran pull herself back into a human shape. Her limbs had been cracked and bent into semblance of a demonic host and the pain of pulling it back together was nothing compared to the pain of losing control in the first place.

“Yep,” Damran said in the same light tone. “Thanks for the help.”

“You’re becoming more you.”

“Yep.”

“What are you going to do with the elf?”

“Keep him.”

“You’re making him into something else.”

“Yep.”

“Do you even know what?”

“Yep.”

Damran wouldn’t tell her, and Scaril didn’t push, instead sighing and releasing her hold on the demons. Damran grabbed them before they could run rampant and held them so tight they pressed against her with sharp teeth and complaints. Suddenly angry, she tore into them and made holes to fill with the others. Four or five per demon, clamoring and feeding on them. Scaril watched, fascinated. When it was done, Damran stood, shook out her limbs, and left. Scaril didn’t follow her.


	22. Uglier Than the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Tanith called to Damran again. She was different now, but she was still Damran. “Gadreel,” she said, walking into the office and interrupting what looked like very important negotiations. “You guys should come back later,” she told the visitors. When they saw who she was, they fled. “Gadreel, I thought you warned Tanith.”

“I did.” Gadreel was puzzled. “She seemed serious when she said she’d stop.”

“She’s doing it again. I want to ruin her.”

“Do I have to command you?” Gadreel asked in a low voice. A dangerous voice.

“No.” Damran smiled. “But I still want to go.”

“Why is that girl calling you? I told her exactly what would happen if you found her again.”

“Because she’s the kind who thinks she can tame a beast without touching the monster. We all know how those tales go. Tame the beast, the monster comes out years later and eats you.”

“I will send someone to speak to her. Elwin is a priest, she will know what to say.” Gadreel prepared to call the night elf, but Damran held up a hand.

“I’ll go,” Damran said. “I’m in control of all of them now. I’ll frighten her. Titans know I’m still good at that.”

“You’ll have to tell me how you got control when you’re done with her,” Gadreel said.

“I was going to tell you now, but I heard her and got sidetracked. Short story, really. I took complete control to fuck Lovely proper-like because he’s earned it, lost it a few moments, Scaril kept ‘em in check, and I got new leashes on them. And then I got real fucking angry, fed the demons to the others, and then ate them all.”

“Interesting.” Gadreel seemed to understand, but she had a good poker face. “So you’re Damran, one?”

“With many inside. I’m dominant. I’m Damran, with one dominant voice who used to be one of many. Now the others are the chorus. I could probably hand the reins to another, but not completely. More like I’d do with the reins what they say but they can’t actually take the reins because I ate their hands.”

“Okay. Fine. Scare the girl, but don’t hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“I know that,” Damran scoffed. “I never let it touch anyone who didn’t deserve it. I’m not going to start now.”

Damran found the girl, and nearly scared the Light right out of her. She let the girl feel the voices, clamoring and fighting and hungering, and the girl fainted. Damran woke her with a rough shake.

“I’m not the beast,” Damran said. “I’m the monster. You can’t tame the monster, girl. Find some other fairy tale.” She let a demon brush the surface and the girl fainted again, and Damran called over a city guard and left before the guard reached them.


	23. Beloved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran returned to the guild compound, and Lovely was waiting. “What you did before...” he said. “It was different. You’re different now.”

“Yep. You’ve been so good I thought it was time to reward you. Turns out that it was part of what I needed to get full control over the others.”

“Oh.” Lovely seemed surprised. “I always thought I was simply Lovely. The slave.”

“You are. Were, I guess? You can still be that. You could be a bit more now, I can manage that.”

“I would like that. But it’s frightening. All I know is Lovely.”

“How about you pick a name and just be a little less Lovely and a little more that new one.”

“What name should I take?”

Damran shrugged.

“I want it to please you. You’ve taken such good care of me.”

“Pick any name except Late For Dinner,” she joked. He didn’t find it funny, and she sighed. “Think on it while you heat the pool.”

“Yes, Damran.”  
He filled the pool and added her favourite oils. “No salt this time,” Damran said. “Maybe not ever. We’ll see. Not this time though.”

She bathed, and invited him in. He politely declined, and she soaked for a while as he fed her pieces of fruit. “Anwell,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Sounds elven,” Damran commented.

“It means Beloved.”

“Works for me. Anwell, care to join me in the bath?”

“I would like you to make love to me.”

Damran looked up at him. “Well, a different name means a different method, I guess. Alright.” She hauled herself out of the pool, bringing a good quantity of water with her. It slowly flowed back into the pool on the slightly tilted stone floor. “And despite popular belief, I do know how to make love to someone. I’ve got well over a hundred human voices and almost the same number in orcs and other things. The demons are nice and muzzled now.”

Lovely had never blushed, not really. His skin flushed when he was aroused, but he didn’t blush. He had no shame, no embarrassment, because he was Damran’s willing slave, but a slave nonetheless. Anwell, however, was something else, and blushed as he regarded Damran’s naked body. “See anything you like?” Damran teased.

“Quite a few things, actually,” Anwell said, smiling.


	24. Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

“I’m Damran the Red,” Damran said suddenly. Her sudden appearance spooked Gadreel’s horse, but the warrior quickly calmed the animal.

“Why the Red?”

“I’m Damran,” she said. “Damran the Red. When I’m Damran the Red, I’m me. When I’m Damran, I’m the others. Likely demonic.”

“I see. I did notice your helm’s eyes are red now.”

“Mm. We can do a power play. Big bad Damran, controlled by High Warlock Scaril. Really freak people out.”

“Could be useful.” The stables were always full of activity, controlled chaos. “Will the eyes change colour?”

“On purpose. Purple means a human’s in charge who isn’t me. Fel green is obviously demons. Red is me. Blue is an orc, usually, but they’ve been mostly consumed by the humans. Fewer of them. Basic math. Still some there, though. That’s how I know Orcish. And Zandalari. One snuck in there and has been keeping his head down ever since.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Damran visited the Cathedral, briefly, but didn’t feel like staying. She returned to Anwell, asked him to love her nice and slow, and then went to see Anduin. This time she went through the regular route, announcing her presence to a courtier who kept his eyes on the floor, and then waiting in the library, careful not to puncture holes in any books with her claws.

“Damran!” he called. He sounded happy. He looked happy, too. “You’re different. You’re more you. How did it happen?”

“Let go, grabbed on again, got really angry, ate everyone. Now it’s me and they’re the chorus.”

“I see.” He was smiling. “It’s an improvement. I’m glad it worked out. I’m also glad you didn’t hurt Tanith.”

“Heard about that, eh?” Damran asked.

“Yes. She’s naive.” He sighed. “Sometimes I feel much older than I really am.”

Damran patted his head. “That’s what happens. Let your dad know how it went, would you? I think I’ll head out, see what kind of hell I can wreak.”

“You’re still like that?” Anduin asked.

“Oh, yeah. It’s great.” Damran grinned down at him, and it was feral. “I’m the worst thing out there for a whole lot of people, Anduin. And I love it.” She sniffed his hair. “Let me know if you ever get curious about some things. I can show you the ropes.”

He blushed, but didn’t outright refuse.

“I think we both know why it’d be better to have me first, anyway.” She gave his head one last pat, and left the Keep.

Her next stop was the Blasted Lands.


	25. Pariah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little more explicit than usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

There were Iron Horde orcs there, in the Blasted Lands. Ones that didn’t know her like they should, like their ilk in Draenor knew her. She tore into them one at a time, using her claws to tear open their backsides in the semblance of a fucking. Some, the ones who got too mouthy with her, she took off their noses, put holes in their skulls and came into their sinuses. She left a right mess when she decided it was enough for the night. Damran spent a lovely two weeks there, terrifying the Iron Horde and by extension the Azerothian spies stationed near the portal.

She visited Darnassus after that. It had been a while since she’d seen the great tree. Some of the night elves could feel the chaos in her, looked down and hurried past her. She had taken up a vigil near their temple, and her helm grinned at everyone who passed her completely still form. A visiting human, a mage with barely enough magic to register, walked right past Damran obliviously, so concerned was the woman with whatever was bothering her. Damran trailed the woman with an unsteady gait, lurching along and bending at odd angles. People tended to stink of terror when she did it - like it was too obvious, now, that she wasn’t human even if she looked it. The walk was horrifying to see, but made for heady aromas.

When the woman finally did look up, and up, and up at Damran, she simply furrowed her brow. “Can I help you with something?” she asked. “I’m a bit preoccupied right now.”

“No, just curious,” Damran said, leaning forward and to the side to meet the woman’s gaze at an even level. “What’s your name? I’m Damran.”

The woman inhaled sharply, but held her ground. Stupid. Damran could admire that. “I’m Mariah.”

“Mariah. Lovely name. You smell nice.” Damran’s sniffing could be heard somewhere behind her helm’s maw, and the woman leaned back, smelling of unease, discomfort, and the beginnings of fear. “You like dogs?”

“Yes?”

“I could take you like one. I can make you feel good. Not like he did. I know what I’m doing, and if I say I’ll make you feel good you’ll be begging me not to stop.”

“I don’t want to think about him.” The woman didn’t ask how Damran knew of him. “Please leave me alone.”

“Aw. I’m a little disappointed. Are you sure? I can be an unholy terror and rip you up from the inside, but I can be a sweet and gentle lover, too. Might even fix the holes he put in you.”

The woman swallowed. “How would that work? Sex isn’t a cure.”

“Oh, dear heart,” Damran said, smiling. She had her, now. “I don’t have sex. Not like you humans do. I don’t need to lie like you do, either. I’ve got a nice, thick cock, and it will make you feel so full. It’ll touch all those places you just can’t seem to reach on your own, all the nice spots he couldn’t be bothered with. I’ll put you in heaven, make you cry with want, and I’ll deliver. Oh, I will. I’ll get you all nice and hot and bothered and wet, I’ll make you soak through your sheets. I’m so much bigger than you, imagine how it would feel to have me wrapped around you, fucking you so nice and slow with my thick cock. It’ll pull at your pussy and you’ll want it so bad you’ll cry, and I’ll give it to you because I’m not so cruel as to keep it from you. You’ll come on my cock, and I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t stay awake. And I’ll be there in the morning and I’ll fuck you again, hard and fast like you’ve always wanted to try. You always knew men couldn’t please you like that. But I can.”

Mariah was breathing heavily through her nose. Damran could smell the heavy scent of her arousal. “What do you want from me?”

“One hell of a night. And a morning, I guess.” Damran’s helm slid open and she licked below Mariah’s ear, making the woman shudder. “I’ll get my kicks giving you yours. Sometimes I do that. Don’t you worry about me hurting you. I don’t lie. I can see what you want, I’ll give you exactly that. Just remember that I can do it, but no one else can. One night of fantasy you’ll never be able to match.”

“Yes.”

Damran smiled slowly. “What was that? I didn’t quite hear it.” A lie. Damran heard everything. But she also liked to tease.

“Yes. Yes, I want it. I want that. What you said.”

“Mm.” Damran brushed her lips over the shell of Mariah’s ear. “You might regret only asking for one night. But we’ll see. Maybe I’ll feel generous. Maybe you’ll feel nice around my cock.”

Dirty talk was Mariah’s weakness. Damran took full advantage of it, making her come over and over for the entire night. Mariah slept only four hours before Damran woke her again, and fucked her senseless on the bed of her rented room. “I’m the only one who can make you feel like this,” Damran told her, and that wasn’t a lie. “I’m the only one who can make you feel like this just by fucking you. No human could do this. No night elf, or draenei, could cause pleasure with their cock instead of pain. Not like this.” Damran could feel the bed nearing its end beneath them, and picked Mariah up, fucking her roughly and holding her in two massive hands. “Tell me you love my cock.”

Mariah couldn’t speak properly past the electricity running through her muscles, through her nerves. Damran held her aloft, let her cock slip out, and Mariah cried out in complaint, begging wordlessly.

“Tell me you love my cock. Tell me how you feel with my cock inside you.”

“I love your cock,” Mariah mewled. “I love your thick cock. I love your cock in my pussy. Please. I’m so wet. I need to come. Your cock makes me so wet, I love it. Please, fuck me. Fuck me with your cock.”

Damran obliged, and when they left, Mariah was unconscious from sheer exhaustion, her body’s stores of energy completely emptied. Damran left them some fruits and fresh water, and a note.

[You will never feel like that again without me. Remember that.]


	26. No One's Immune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran often attended events not meant for her. Most of the time, she was cloaked, hanging off a chandelier and stealing food and watching as people accused each other of the theft. This time was only a little different. She crawled up the wall, her claws clicking against the stone. The sound was imperceptible past the noise on the floor, talks between nobles and the bustling of servants. She hung off the ceiling for a while, watching. Anduin appeared, as was his wont, to ease tensions, gather information, ease minds about the never ending need for funding in the war against the Horde, and now the Iron Horde.

Damran appeared behind Varian, who commanded respect only with his scarred visage and impressive sneer. His scares accentuated it nicely. She delicately picked a pork chop off his plate with the tips of two claws, and ate it in three bites. “Mm,” she moaned in pleasure, taking in the sudden scent of oily fear as she licked her claws free of fat. “Melts in the mouth.”

“Damran,” Varian greeted, cautious, respectful, tense. Damran patted his shoulder briefly.

“Varian,” she said in a gravelly tone, mocking his voice. “Just thought I’d pop in. See if I can’t get someone. There’s always one,” she said, flashing her teeth in a grotesque grin. Someone rushed away. She smelled urine in his wake. “Don’t suppose you’ve got someone in mind?”

“No, thank you,” Varian said.

“Too bad. Another time.”

Damran cloaked herself, wandering. She pinned one unaware servant to a table and rucked up her skirts. The servant was blushing heavily and using her hands to cover her mouth. But her thoughts had been so loud that Damran couldn’t be bothered to ignore them.

“Naughty girl,” Damran crooned into her ear. “You like to be seen. You like the thrill of getting caught. Who better than me? You get the thrill without the shame. You’ll get pity, sympathy for being raped by the big, bad demon. You like the feel of my cock on your ass, don’t you? Of course you do. It’s so big. Imagine how it would feel to be split open.”  
Damran slid into her with some trouble, and enjoyed the feel of the blood leaking out. The servant could barely muffle her voice, her back arching and her hips rolling roughly into Damran’s. “Maybe if you moan nice and loud,” Damran whispered against her reddened ear. “I’ll fuck you in the ass, instead.”

The girl let out a moan, her hands still clamped over her mouth. 

“A little louder, girlie,” Damran ordered. The servant groaned, begged in a quiet voice. And then she moaned, when Damran thrust hard enough to move the table. Its legs screeched on the floor, and several pairs of eyes fell on them, only to quickly look away. Everyone knew who Damran was. “That’s my girl.”

Damran pulled out of her, thoroughly covered in fluid, and pushed her cock into the girl’s anus. It stretched, much more easily than it should have. The girl was shivering, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. The burn from her anus kept her moaning, and she reached down to play with herself. “Moan again,” Damran ordered, tangling her claws in the girl’s hair and pulling back. “Good girl.” She wasn’t a girl, but she liked the power play. It made her wetter than October. “Where do you want me to come?”

“Come in my ass. Come inside my ass.”

“Oh, a naughty girl.”

The servant twitched violently when she came, squeezing Damran’s cock insistently. Damran obliged and released a good amount into her. The servant clenched to keep it from dripping out, and leaned on the table, unable to stand on her own for the time being.

One of the other servants was staring at Damran in abject horror. Damran winked, gestured down to her still-stiff cock, and the servant hurried on his way, eyes on the floor.

Damran found the king again, stole another bit of food from his plate. “Please tell me you didn’t rape her,” the king sighed.

“Wouldn’t rape someone in your court, Varian. I just gave her what she wanted.” Damran leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I don’t hurt people who haven’t earned it,” Damran said. “But pain’s not all I can do. You’d be amazed at how much pleasure I can give. Just ask Anwell. Sometimes I feel like it. Sometimes the right coin will get you a night you’ll never forget, not even past an amnesia spell.”

“No, thank you,” Varian said quickly.

“As you wish.” Damran shrugged. “By the way, that one over there?" She gestured to a servant. "He’s earned a good amount of pain. I thought I’d give you the option of asking me to do it elsewhere, since I know you like to keep your floors clean.”

“Elsewhere. Please.”

“I like it to be public,” Damran said, smiling down at the king. He could tell it was not a real smile.

“Damran, if you have any reason to listen to me, please don’t terrorize the people in the city.”

“Why stop now?” she said. “I won’t do it in the court. That’s all you’ll get from me without giving something else. Or someone.”

Varian groaned into his hand, forever grateful that he wasn’t constantly surrounded at his table. Only most of the time. “You think I can do something like that?”

“Of course you can. You’ve been doing it for years.”

“True enough. Fine. Find one person who wants it, and do it wherever you want. On a table, the floor, whatever. Don’t hurt them! They don’t deserve that. And then tear into that other one someplace private. Or at night. I don’t want my people to be traumatized.”

“No one feels like humiliating my victims,” Damran said, amused. “You know that. They always offer sympathies. Like I actually raped them. People are so willing to get fucked when they know it won’t look like it was their choice. Anyway. I have someone in mind.”

Damran found a pliant noble, a man with far too much time on his hands, and took him violently on the floor. He bled, of course, and he also came twice in his pants and earned a fair bit of respect from his fellows for being able to hold back his tears. Not that there were any tears of pain past Damran’s influence, but they didn’t need to know that.

Everyone knew who Damran was. Everyone knew to fear them.


	27. Room Service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

It had been four months since Damran had given Mariah more pleasure than any mortal had right to. Now the woman was in Damran’s chambers. Anwell was staring her down from the shadows. Anwell was servant to Damran, pliant in her hands and giving, but he was a spy, an assassin, as he always had been.

“Room service?” Damran joked, pulling her helm off with a hand on one of its horns.

“I found you,” Mariah started.

“I know why you found me,” Damran interrupted. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Then I will stay here until you do.”

“Hm. Might be a while. Anwell,” Damran crooned, removing her codpiece. Anwell deep throated her, and she made love to him while Mariah watched for a good hour.

“A bath now, Damran?” Anwell asked.

“Yeah. Make it nice and smelly. Your favourites. I’ll be nice this time.”

“Yes, Damran.” Anwell smiled at Mariah’s stony face while he passed.

“You’re stubborn,” Damran commented. “Most people would’ve at least begged me. Some wouldn’t have been able to resist touching themselves while I fucked Anwell.” Damran looked Mariah up and down, smiling. “I want to make you pregnant.”

Mariah blanched.

“Oh, so you want to play, but you don’t want to deal with the after? And here I was, thinking you were a big girl.”

“I can’t support a child,” Mariah said quietly. “I don’t know how to raise one.”

“You don’t want me to have a kid,” Damran said, leaning down to bite at Mariah’s chin. It left red marks, and welts raised where Damran dragged her claws along Mariah’s dark arms. “I’d fuck it as it came out of you.”

Mariah shuddered, and Damran’s nose flared as she took in the scent of Mariah’s fear. Damran licked her lips. “Please,” Mariah whispered. “Anything but that. Anything but a child.”

“Too bad. That’s what I want. I want to fuck you while you’re pregnant, I want to watch you swell with it, I want to feel it growing aware in your belly. I want to watch you give birth. I want to fuck you while you’re still bleeding from it. I can do incredible things, Mariah,” Damran said, watching her with eyes that burned with fel flames. “We can do things you can’t imagine. We can make you give birth to a child that disappears a moment later. We can make it like your body was never marred by birth. We can make your soul quiver. I love to do the things you can’t bear to imagine. I would fuck you, I’d give you a daughter, I’d age that daughter and fuck her and make her pregnant, and then fuck the baby and then fuck you while they both watched.”

Mariah was close to vomiting. Damran smiled.

“But I won’t do that. Not the second part. If you want me to fuck you again, you’ll agree to the first one. I will fill you with my seed. I’ll fill your womb and it will grow inside you. That’s the price of your pleasure. But I’m not cruel,” Damran said. “Not unnecessarily. I can make it all go away the moment the baby’s clawed its way out of you. Tell me. Tell me you want me to give you my seed. Tell me you want to carry my seed inside you, the seed of an abomination. A demon. Ask me to fuck you, ask me to come inside you, ask me to give you a baby. And I will do it. I will wipe the slate clean.”

“Yes.” Mariah’s eyelids were fluttering, and Damran pulled back the demons, the whispers. She had her.

“But after I wipe it, I won’t fuck you until you ask me again,” Damran cautioned.

“Yes. Yes. I want it. I want that. Give me a child. I want to bear your child. Just fuck me. Please.”

Anwell poked his head into the room. “The bath is ready, Damran.”

“Good. Why don’t you go soak for a bit? I’ll join you shortly.” Damran’s eyes were gleaming, and Anwell smiled. Damran was happy. That was good. He was glad she was happy.  
Damran leaned Mariah over a table and fucked her raw. In five short minutes, Mariah was screaming Damran’s name, pressing her palms flat against the table as she came. Damran came inside her, filling her and impregnating her. It only took a single thought to make Damran’s semen capable of reproduction, and a simple nudge to push a sperm into Mariah’s waiting egg. Fertilized, and full of dripping white release, Mariah sagged against the table. 

Damran carved her sigil into Mariah’s back, a semblance of a bat’s wing fingers with a circle over the apex. It bled profusely, and Damran licked the lines, making Mariah cry out in pain as Damran’s spittle burned her flesh. It stopped the bleeding, scarring in a painful process that made Mariah’s eyes run with tears, and Damran ran a hand down Mariah’s back. It curved to meet her touch. Damran’s armour had disappeared, leaving her naked, and she smiled.

“I made you pregnant,” Damran said. “You belong to me until it's over. Your body is mine. I will take good care of it. In a year and a bit, you will ask me again, and it will belong to me again. That is the price of the pleasure you seek.”

Damran joined Anwell in the pool, and the elf smiled. “You’re happy,” he said. “I can see it. She made you happy?”

“Yes. I’ve got a good toy.” Anwell settled against Damran’s chest, running a callused palm over her breasts in a gesture meant to comfort. Damran didn’t need it, but she let Anwell do it as it made him feel nice and warm. “You’re wonderful,” Damran crooned, kissing him softly. He giggled into her mouth, tasting blood and ash on her tongue.

“What are you going to do with the woman?”

“Mariah is carrying my seed,” Damran said. “The price of her pleasure.”

“What is the price of my pleasure?” Anwell asked curiously.

“You already paid it,” Damran said. “When I took you the first time? I broke you and remade you. That was the price. Now I’m all yours.”

Anwell hummed deep in his throat, looking down at Damran’s erection. “It seems so paltry a payment when I see everything I got for it.”

“Oh, Anwell,” Damran groaned when he impaled himself on her cock. With a mortal, he’d need oil to smooth the way. With Damran, he only needed her will. Reality was so easy to bend with over four hundred minds focused on the task. “Oh, fuck me. Anwell. You’re getting real good at that.”

“I’m glad I can make you feel good,” Anwell said. His cock was sandwiched between them, and grew hard quickly as he rolled his hips against Damran’s crotch. “Will you come for me? Damran? Can you please come for me?”

“I couldn’t refuse you,” Damran said, and exhaled heavily when she came. Her cock twitched, buried in his ass, and he groaned at the sensation, still hard.

“May I come inside you?” he asked.

“So polite,” Damran teased, and got out of the pool to present her backside. He chose her vagina, and Anwell bit into her flesh as he came. “And bold,” Damran commented as the mark disappeared. “Mariah is mine until she gives birth,” Damran said, settling back into the pool. Her blood drifted away into the water, and Anwell retook his place in her lap. “Watch over her, take care of her. The seed is mine so it won’t be delicate, but it will be hungry. I’ll give you things to feed her. Make her take them, either orally or not, even if you have to fuck them into her. Which you can do, because she’s mine.”

“I don’t find her very pleasing,” Anwell said. “But I will do it. Because you ask it of me.”

Damran smiled at him, and the expression was fond. “That’s my Anwell,” she praised, and he blushed. She made him come with her hand as she spoke. “She’s stubborn. Rebellious. She likely won’t leave the rooms as long as I’m here because she loves it so much when I fuck her. When I leave for a few months, she’ll wander the grounds. Likely keep to herself. Just keep an eye on her, make sure no one causes trouble. Likely she’ll get sympathy from anyone outside the guild. Anyone in the Glory Seekers knows that when I mark someone, with my sigil, they’re mine.”

“Like me?” Anwell asked, panted as his cock softened.

“Yes. But I don’t need to carve it into your flesh, because you wear it so proudly.” Damran stroked his hair lovingly, and he leaned into her touch. “Mariah is stubborn. She’ll need to be reminded of the cost of her pleasure. It will take fourteen months for her to carry the baby to term. She will curse me with every ache.” Damran bared her teeth, and Anwell leaned up to lick them languidly. Damran caught his tongue, teased him, and released it. “I will enjoy filling her with seed she’s already carrying.


	28. William

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran disappeared for a while. She had found a well of lost souls, crying out and ripping into each other. She took two months, sleeping while she ate them. No one saw hide or hair of her for that time.

She went to Northrend, and found a young man, a warrior in the king’s army. He was handsome, wide at the shoulders and lean at the waist, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. One of Damran’s voices wanted him. She obliged. He was easy to convince - he saw the want in her eyes, and let her take him.

He breathed moans into the cold night air, kept warm by Damran’s arms wrapped around him, and Damran’s quiet voice slowly filling him. Damran took the time to prepare him the normal way, giving him the time to build up, the time to prepare. He’d never laid with a male before, never been taken by one, and Damran was large. Damran found pleasure in his wince when she filled him, and then his open mouth, panting breath, blushing body when she slowly, lovingly caressed him.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, Damran.”

“Tell me,” Damran said, curled around his smaller frame. “Tell me how good you feel. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“I feel hot, Damran. You make me feel so good.” His legs were wide open, inviting, pleading for her. Soon, his heels were digging into her lower back, painful and pleasurable. “Oh, Damran. Light, it feels so good.” She angled to brush his prostate, and soon he was breathing quickly, meeting her thrusts, begging. “Damran. Please, oh gods, please. I’m going to come. Damran.”

“Come for me,” Damran moaned, breathing hard, digging her forehead into the pillow next to his head. “Come for me, William. Let it go. Come for me.”

He came, his cock spurting and twitching and coating his abdomen with his own release. Damran kept rutting him, slowly, as he recovered. “Oh, Damran,” he sighed, relaxing into the bed. He was done. He could continue, if she willed it, but he wanted to be done. She stopped moving, watched his eyes half-close, watch his sweaty chest rise and fall. “That was wonderful.”

Damran was soft now, and she pulled out. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t know you could do that,” he said. “I always hear how you hurt people.”

“I do tend to enjoy hurting people,” she mused. “A lot of people just want pleasure, but not a conventional kind. I’m only too happy to provide.” Damran grinned down at him, and he laughed breathlessly.

“You’re too much,” he sighed. He was tired.

Damran watched him move towards sleep, cleaning him with a soft cloth and drying the sweat off his face and chest. When he twitched in his dreams, seeing moments from the war, from battle with undead and necromancy and the kind of horrible things Damran liked to eat, she smoothed a hand over his brow, and his nightmares eased.

Damran didn’t need to sleep. He watched him, listened to his heart beat and his blood flow. He thought of Anwell, who was always eager to have her and be taken, and he thought of Mariah, who so willingly paid the price for pleasure. She watched William’s eyes twitch under his eyelids as he dreamed. That soul, the one that had reached for William so plaintively, settled under the weight of Damran’s will, content to be near him. The soul did not know who he was. The soul only knew that William’s heartbeat sounded so lovely against Damran’s ear drums.

Morning came. “William,” Damran whispered, and he woke suddenly, too used to danger to be able to wake slowly. “It’s morning. You have duty today.”

“I know.” He groaned, sore and stiff. Damran ran a hand over his belly, offering to rid him of the ache, but he refused without being aware that he refused. “I had a wonderful night,” he said, grinning.

“Mm. I quite enjoyed you.”

He blushed, wetting his lips, and stood carefully. Damran watched his muscles work under his skin, and Damran watched as he dressed. “Will I see you again?” he asked. He did ask for the pleasure, though Damran knew he would not refuse it. He would remember the night for a long time for its slow, sweaty sweetness. “Or... do I only get one night? Will the next time be a demon?” He was unsure. Damran felt it in her chest. He only wanted to see her again. See the twisted body made of lost souls and demons and horrible things.

“You will see me again,” Damran said. “And it will not be a demon. It will be me.”

He turned and smiled at her, and she smiled back. It felt odd, to let it touch her eyes, but he saw it and it made his smile wider. Damran felt her teeth ache for the want to bite him, mark him like orcs did. Some of the voices drove her to mark him. She did not. She stood, towering over him, and he pressed into her, wrapping his arms around her much wider frame.

“I will eagerly await that day, then,” William said, muffled against her chest. He pulled things out of her with his voice, and she rested her chin on his head, carefully putting a large, hot hand on his back. It raised goose bumps all along his skin. “Until next time.” He backed away, unable to lock down his wide smile, and left the room.

Damran looked at the bed, with a few spots of blood from where his nails had dug into her hips. The sheets were mussed, some pulled out from where they had been tucked under the mattress. The pillows smelled strongly of William’s arousal and sweat. Damran took the pillowcases and stored them in a place only Damran could reach.


	29. Pariah Cont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran returned to her private quarters in the Glory Seekers compound. Anwell greeted her eagerly. “How have you been?” he asked.

“I found lost souls, and ate them. I’m more now. Quite enjoy it. I found a warrior named William and had a wonderful night, and I want to see him again. It’s strange. He makes me feel odd.”

“In a good way? If you want I can rid you of him.”

“No.” Damran looked down at Anwell, and brushed a fingertip down his jaw. He smiled. “No, not a bad way. I want to see him again. I didn’t fuck him, and he enjoyed it so much. Wanted more. I will see him again soon. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Anwell answered, pulling at Damran’s armour. She let it fall away, whisper-soft and crawling back into her skin. He ran his hands over her skin, and the touch was familiar. “Most of the guild is used to seeing me around, now. Some even greet me as I walk by. It’s nice.”

“How is Mariah?”

“She’s starting to swell. She didn’t want to eat the things you left for her. The child started to eat her, so I fucked the things into her like you said. I couldn’t make her enjoy it like you did but I’m stronger than her.”

“Good.” Damran praised him and kissed him deeply as a reward. “You’re wonderful, Anwell.”

It made sense that Mariah didn’t want to eat the things Damran left for her. Humans had strong taboos against cannibalism and fel magics, and with good reason. Too much of their own flesh took effect on their brains and their nervous systems. Chemicals built up and blocked things. And demon blood corrupted even the most stalwart of souls. But the child wanted to eat certain things, whether or not it was from its own host. “Damran?” Anwell asked. “Would you like a bath?”

“Did you enjoy Mariah’s body?” Damran asked.

“She’s not attractive to me,” Anwell said. “But a cunt is a cunt and an ass is an ass. But she struggled too much. Cried a bit. She doesn’t like me much.”

“I want to watch you take her,” Damran said. “You fuck her pussy, fill her womb again. The baby will like that. You can fuck her ass after, fill her up nicely. And I’ll make her enjoy you this time. Would you like that?”

“I would,” Anwell said. “If you were watching.”

“Mm. Where is she?”

“She’s sulking, over in the gardens.”

“This time of night, no one will be there except maybe Vengeance or Syllwing. Neither will bother us. Come.”

Damran led the way on silent feet, ducking through lower doorways. Anwell followed her to the gardens, and they found Mariah sitting stiffly on a bench, clenching her hands in her lap. Damran grabbed her and flung her to the ground, laying on top of her, crushing Mariah with her weight.

“Miss me?” Damran crooned, and Mariah’s body reacted.

“Damran!” she gasped.

“I heard you were misbehaving,” Damran said. “I left things for you to eat for the child, so it wouldn’t eat you. Anwell had to fuck them into you.”

“I agreed to you! Not to that... filth!”

“Ah, ah. Language. It’s okay. I can make it feel like I’m fucking you when it’s him. So it won’t be so unpleasant next time. But he has to fuck you for me to do it.”

Mariah licked her lips, feeling Damran’s heavy cock through the warrior’s trousers. “It will feel like you?” Mariah asked breathily.

“That is what I said.”

“Yes.”

Anwell fucked her hard, rough, hatefully and violently, and Damran watched as Mariah cried and begged and pleaded for more, harder, faster. The more it should have hurt, the more Damran made it good, and the more Mariah begged until she came, and then came again a minute later as Anwell made her bleed.

Damran layered her will over Anwell’s so that Mariah’s soul would recognize it as Damran’s, even though it wasn’t. The mind was a powerful thing, the will even more so, and the soul held both. It was simple, for Damran, and when Anwell was exhausted and his semen dripped from both of Mariah’s holes, and her mouth, and her hair, Anwell collapsed into Damran’s waiting arms.

“You did so well,” Damran crooned to him, petting his hair and leaving butterfly-wing kisses along his skin. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Damran,” he said, thanking her for the praise. Mariah was yet unable to move. Damran let her energy flow into Anwell, fel flickering along his skin, and he recovered quickly. “Should I bathe her?” he asked.

“No. Let her walk around a bit like that.” Damran made her get up, walk with drunken steps about the garden. Anwell’s semen dripped down her legs, onto the grass. Mariah murmured unintelligibly, her heart still pounding, pleasure still sparking along her nerves. “Okay, she’s done for the night. Bathing her is a good idea. Thank you, Anwell.”

“You spoil me, Damran,” he said with a smile. Damran kissed his lips softly.

“Only because you earn it. Make her smell like lavender. I want to pet that rounding belly of hers as she sleeps.”


	30. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Mariah’s belly swelled as though it were a normal human pregnancy, but slower, to match the timeline of the demonic seed. Damran fed her bits of her own flesh, tearing little chunks of muscles from her arm and watching as Mariah, ravenous from the child’s appetite, devoured them. After another month, Mariah was willingly eating the meat off of Damran’s bones, and while Damran enjoyed the sight, she understood Anwell was uncomfortable and gave him tasks elsewhere so he wouldn’t have to excuse himself. He appreciated it, if the blowjobs were anything to go by.

Mariah was very visibly pregnant now, and Damran enjoyed making it bounce, hearing the child’s will complain as she fucked Mariah. Damran varied the speeds, the intensities, enjoying the sounds Mariah made, enjoying hearing Mariah beg and plead to fuck her pregnant pussy.

Damran left again after spending a month and a half with her pet. She wanted to see William.

She found him in his duty, patrolling Valliance Keep. His breath fogged. She smelled it, following along behind him.

“William,” she said. He whirled, sword drawn smoothly, and he relaxed when he saw her familiar armour.

“Damran,” he breathed. “I...” he sheathed his sword. “It’s been a while. I thought... I didn’t think you’d return.”

“I wanted to see you,” Damran stated, and he blushed. “When are you off duty?”

“My patrol ends in the early morning,” he said. “Usually I sleep after, while there’s still peace to be had. But... I wouldn’t be adverse to sharing another bed with you.”

“I’ll let you sleep first. You need sleep. I’ll wait. I can be patient, when I want to be.”

“Alright.” He seemed mildly bemused when she followed him through his route, and his smile was confused but still true. His fellow soldiers stank of fear when Damran passed. “It’s alright, boys,” William called, waving. “She’s just wandering about.”

“Watch yourself around that thing, William. It’s a right demon.”

“Well they’re not wrong,” Damran mused. William laughed.

The night was a quiet one. Ever since the Lich King’s defeat, the plagued creatures under his command had fallen into a strange sort of slumber, and held their forces to the north of the continent, centrally located in Icecrown where the Argent Crusade could continue to hack away at their numbers. William’s patrol ended at five in the morning, and he was relieved by an older soldier who gave Damran a wide berth. “Watch your back,” the man warned, keeping his voice low as though it would keep his words from reaching Damran’s ears. “That one will rip you apart, and then claw you up. I’ve seen it torture people. It keeps them alive for days, does vile things to them and laughs.”

“I’m alright, Hestley,” William promised. “Damran’s not here to hurt me.”

“Don’t trust a word it says. Demons lie.”

“Damran doesn’t,” Damran whispered into his ear, grinning, and he spun on his heel. “I don’t need to lie.”

“Damran,” William sighed, exasperated. The sound tugged at Damran’s mind and she looked over to him.

“What?” she said, drawing out the sound. Hestley had his hand firmly gripped around his sword’s handle, ready to draw it.

“You know what.”

“Mm. Maybe you should remind me?”

William blushed, quickly turning to march away. Damran laughed low in their chest and followed him, ducking and weaving like a drunkard. “You’re horrible,” William grumbled. “Teasing me in front of the others.”

“You like it,” Damran said, brushing his hand against William’s side. Through his armour, the soldier felt the ghost of Damran’s fingers. It ran a shiver up his spine.  
William didn’t want to wait, and Damran took him again, slow and gentle like the first time. William’s body had recovered quickly from the last time, and Damran took pleasure in seeing the blush spread from his cheeks to his thighs.

He rested after the first round, sleeping for a good five hours - more than the usual, for a soldier of Northrend. Damran took him again, and then let William explore their body.  
“Nothing too unusual,” William joked. “No weird spikes as of yet. Oh!” He had trailed his hands from the backs of her knees, up her thighs, and his hands had found her crotch. “You... You have both? You’re male and female?”

“Yes,” Damran said simply. “Four hundred and ninety-seven voices make for a lot of bodies to remember. It doesn’t feel right to only be one.”

“I see.” William bit his lip, chewed it. “Do you always act as a male in bed, though? Do you always... give, rather than receive?”

“Not always. It’s what people usually want, or except. When I rape people they always imagine it as being penetrated, so that’s what I do. Adds an extra layer to it. Some flavour of inevitability.” William had sobered when she said rape. He knew what she did, he just didn’t think of it often. He recovered quickly, and Damran smiled down at him. “Do you want to take me?” she asked lowly.

“If you wouldn’t be adverse to it,” he said hesitantly. “I understand if - I mean, I know that some don’t agree with the body they’re born with. If you’re like that, if it would cause you discomfort... You seem to always act as a male in bed, maybe - I mean, I would understand...”

Damran interrupted his ramblings with a slow and hot kiss, and it left him panting and flushed. “It doesn’t make a difference to me,” Damran promised, brushing his lips over William’s ear. “If you want it, I’m all for it.”

William wanted to make Damran wet, so Damran let him prepare them like he would a human female. His tongue lapped at Damran’s vulva and Damran let their body run a normal course, slowly wetting and blushing and preparing for William.

“Are you ready?” William asked breathlessly, his cock hard and erect at Damran’s vagina.

“Very.”

William slowly entered her, and Damran tightened the hole, made it smaller so William would fill it perfectly, wet and hot. William groaned, and Damran answered by rolling her hips up to meet his. 

When he was about to come, Damran whispered to him, panting like she knew he wanted to hear. He enjoyed seeing her flushed and pleasured under him, because of him. “You can come inside me,” Damran said. “Nothing will come of it,” she promised. He grunted when he came, and Damran came around him, muscles clenching and sucking at his cock as he thrust a few more times, weakly. His hips rested against hers, his cock hilted inside her, and he swallowed thickly, panting.

“Oh, Damran,” he groaned. She pulled him down and he settled into her chest, let her wrap herself around him. Damran’s skin was hot, blazing with fire and magic, and he kept William warm despite the cold winter air. “Damran,” William murmured, trailing his fingers over her flesh in lazy circles. “Why did you return? Why come back to me?”

“I said I would,” Damran said as though it were obvious. Really, it was.

“You didn’t have to. You can do anything, have anyone.”

“I wanted you.” William sighed, nearing sleep. “Go to sleep, you need it. I won’t move.”

Damran was still as stone, listening to William’s heart. The soul inside her wanted to pull at the noise, make it jump again. Damran remained still to let William rest.


	31. Effectively Distracted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia. Damran is completely unapologetic and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran returned to Mariah and reveled in the way she begged to be fucked. Mariah’s weakness was her own pregnancy, the illusion of fertility and love, and Damran had Anwell fuck her as they watched. Damran conjured images of Mariah’s male family members, took pleasure in Mariah’s pleads for more, more, more. Mariah had associated someone coming inside her with the pleasure of her own orgasm, thanks largely in part to Damran’s desires. At Mariah’s own behest, Damran found multiple men who would keep quiet with a bit of pay and a hole to fuck. The more, the better. When Damran was away, Mariah had people to keep her company.

Mariah was too big to walk normally seven months into her pregnancy, and waddled everywhere. Damran’s spawn was sucking everything the host had to give, and it was all Mariah could do to keep from vomiting up everything but flesh and felblood. Still, she did not regret it. When Anwell gave her a look of pity, Damran offered to end it, but Mariah refused, and it settled Anwell’s mind to know it was with the woman’s consent. No matter how warped her mind had become.

“Please, Damran,” Mariah said, running her hands over Damran’s chest. “I want to be fucked so bad. I want more. I want more cum. I want cum in my pussy, please come in my pussy. The baby’s kicking, it wants it too. Please?”

“You make a convincing argument,” Damran rumbled, pulling Mariah forward. “Fuck yourself on my cock, then. Show me how much you want it.”

Pleasure ran through Mariah’s body, even as Damran poked holes in her hide with the claws on her gauntlets, ran red welts over the human’s skin and bled her thighs. Mariah came, and kept going, crying and moaning. Anwell watched with hooded eyes and a lazy smile as he stroked himself. Damran looked over at him, met his eyes, and the elf’s cock twitched when Damran bared his teeth and flared his nostrils.

When Mariah’s body was exhausted, Damran dripped blood from his wrist into her waiting mouth and tore the muscle from her shoulder for the woman to feast on. Anwell came to Damran after with a hard, dark cock.

“My lovely Anwell,” Damran praised, running her hands over his body. “My lovely, perfect Anwell. You’re so good to me. So patient with me. What would I do without you?”

Her words pleased him greatly, and he expended himself in her ass, kissing her all over. “Damran,” he moaned.

“Did you enjoy my body?”

“Yes, Damran. Yes.”

“I have something special for you,” Damran said, pulling a new toy from a bag of spoils. “It’s enchanted. Why don’t you try it out?”

Anwell used it, slicking himself with oil and bracing himself on the mattress. When the toy warmed itself up, sending tendrils of heat into his body and he groaned, trying to fuck himself with it with the same intensity Damran used. With her eyes on his body, trailing up and down and watching his cock bounce, it was almost as good. Damran angled him so that when he came, it was all over her front. “Lick it off,” she said after giving him a moment to bathe in the afterglow of his orgasm. He obeyed, cleaning her, and she left him to rest and fucked Mariah again.

That night, she heard someone’s call, and went to investigate. Varian was a recovering alcoholic, which was a fact not many knew outside a trusted circle. Damran could smell it on him. Tonight was a rough night, and she distracted him. A rough wrestling bout, fighting for dominance, biting and snarling and letting loose the beast. His eyes were yellow like the wolf’s and he took chunks out of her flesh, spat it out and cursed her and grinned like the animal he couldn’t be in polite company.

Then she let him fuck her, roughly, letting out the rest of his fury. He was a king, but still a warrior, and it built up like it would in any other.

And, then, when he was spent like Gadreel was after the fight and everything else was left over, Damran took him slowly, lovingly, with Varian’s cock in her vagina. Her own cock strained in the air, bouncing with every movement, and Varian stroked it as she rolled her hips slowly, caressed his sweaty, bloody skin and murmured sweet words into the air between them.

When he was done, tired and sore and sated in all way, he asked her, “Why go to all this trouble? You don’t owe me anything, last I checked.”

“I have a soft spot for your son,” Damran said. “I like priests. They smell nice. Wouldn’t do to have him worry over you. Besides, that wine you like so much smells foul.”

Varian breathed a laugh, chest bouncing on blood-stained and sweat-matted sheets.


	32. William Cont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia, cannibalism. Damran is completely unapologetic, selfish, and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran returned to Northrend after her night with Varian. William greeted her enthusiastically, though in near silence.

“Damran,” he whispered. His eyes were nearly glowing with his excitement. “You’re back!”

“It would appear so, yes,” Damran said, amused as he wrapped his arms around her. Despite them both being fully armoured. The metal scraped and he retreated, blushing. “Miss me overmuch?”

“No. Well, yes. A bit.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

Damran trailed behind him, straight-backed, swivelling her head at sounds William couldn’t hear. They garnered odd looks, worried looks, angry looks - nothing new. When a strong breeze blew William’s arousal into Damran’s nose, she pinned him against the side of a building the moment they were out of sight. He liked things private, wanted to keep it from everyone else - something that was just his. Damran rutted against him, the action forcing his hips forward, and he groaned quietly. Her hand cupped his jaw, and her helm disappeared like mist sinking into her skin. She whispered into her ear.

“I could hear anything coming from miles away,” she murmured. “Let me take you, let me pleasure you. If there’s trouble where you should be I’ll take care of it. Let me do this for you.”

“Oh, gods, yes. Damran!” His cry was muffled by his own hand, the leather palm of his gauntlet pressing against his mouth. She prepared him with thick, deft fingers, and she didn’t need oil but she had some that tingled and she knew he’d enjoy it.

She took him deeply, with quick thrusts and slow withdrawals. He shuddered when he came into her hand, mouth open and breathes erratic. “Damran,” he whispered. “Oh, Damran.”

“William,” she grunted, and let an orgasm wash through her without any release. “Fuck. William.”

She gave him a minute to recover, and carefully redressed him, letting her armour resurface. Her head remained bare, and she smiled down at him softly as he turned on stiff legs. He looked up at her, an adoring expression on his face. “No one died on my patrol route, I trust?” he joked.

“Only three people.”

“You’re terrible,” he said, smacking her shoulder. The metal clanged dully. She followed him, taking him twice more when his arousal peaked and the wind brought the scent willingly to her nose. He enjoyed each time, trusting in her to keep his interests in mind - to not get caught, to let him feel her pleasure inside him, to not let something happen on his route. She would have taken him a fourth time, and he smelled so richly but he refused with a simple hesitation, and instead, she kissed his jaw and stepped back enough to let him continue walking.

She stayed with him for two weeks, hiding on ceilings while he was asleep, watching and listening. She took the time to scare some people, remind them what she was - a monster, an unapologetically demonic freak with a smile like a shark. She left decorative piles of corpses on the shore and tore determined cultists into bloody ribbons to string across the outer walls of the keep.

And when William was awake and not on duty, she hung over him like a storm cloud, fixated on his scent, his voice, following him by heartbeat through Valliance Keep. He didn’t mind her, laughed when she climbed up the wall to dangle off a rafter. People got used to her. They feared her, stank of it, but no longer thought of rape and massacre at the first hint of her colour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had sketches of Anwell and Damran commissioned. Damran's jawline is downright beautiful.


	33. 512

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trigger warnings for rape, abuse, violence, gaslighting, necrophilia, cannibalism. Damran is completely unapologetic, selfish, and hurts people in the worst ways they can think of, using their own fears against them.)
> 
> The day is one that every warlock has heard of - the day when some of their best, some of their most powerful, attempted a spell energized by the Dark Portal itself. Everyone who could tell of the spell are gone now, swallowed by the Many. Damran, an abomination, a volatile mixture of demons and mortals, crafted a human body for themself on that day and now walks among the mortal races. They follow only their own will and use their many voices to enforce it.
> 
> All know Damran - and all fear Damran.

Damran returned to the guild compound when Mariah was a month away from birth. The baby was hungry constantly, and Anwell provided gladly for Damran’s toy. Mariah consumed an entire human corpse in two days while Damran watched Anwell proudly.

Mariah was almost constantly being fucked, constantly eating, constantly drinking. The baby demanded it and her body responded by sending signals of pleasure whenever she responded. When Damran touched her she nearly melted into an orgasm. 

“You’ve done so very well, Anwell,” Damran crooned, kissing up the elf’s neck. He exhaled, smiling, and tilted his head for easier access.

“Only for you, Damran.”

“Mm. My good little Anwell. How shall I reward you?”

Anwell thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I have everything I need. And all I want is you.”

“How about your own little plaything?”

“No, I’m alright without it.”

Damran smiled. Anwell had a few things in mind, but they didn’t spark his interest like Damran did. “How about...” Damran smiled. “How about I give you a vagina? You could feel the way it sucks at my cock. You could feel two at once when I fuck it and stroke your cock from behind. It’s a lovely feeling.”

“Oh.” That did spark his interest. “Could you do that?”

“For you? Anwell, of course I could.”

“Then, would you?”

“Of course.” She nipped at the back of his neck, and ran her hands down his sides. He shuddered and mewled, curling forward as his abdominal muscles cramped, making room for muscles he hadn’t had before. His pelvis widened slightly, aching under his skin, and Damran smoothed it away with two large hands. “How do you feel?”

“Odd,” he muttered, rubbing at this stomach.

“Do you want to explore your new body? I’d love to watch you do that.”

He lay on the bed, a massive thing meant for Damran that dwarfed the elf. He explored his new hole, used his fingers and tried stroking himself while using a toy in his vagina. “Damran,” he moaned. Her eyes were fixedly on his hands, which he used to work himself into a near frenzy. “Damran. I feel empty. I’ve never felt that before. Why do I feel empty?”

“Because you are,” Damran said. “Would you like me to fill you up? Do you want my cock in your new hole?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. Please?”

“You beg so prettily,” Damran murmured, moving like a great cat over the bed to Anwell. “What would I do without you, I wonder?” She tested him, found him soaked and open, and spread his legs wide enough to cramp at the hips. He moaned, enjoying the pain mixing with the pleasure she provided him. “Keep stroking yourself, Anwell.”

“I’ll come too soon,” he complained, and cried out when she was suddenly inside him, roughly filling him almost too much, almost too wide, but just enough.

“No you won’t,” Damran promised, winking down at him, and fucked him with the speed and roughness she knew he’d like. He stroked himself, becoming frantic, fisting the sheets and crying out with the pleasure. Damran kept him going for a long time, until Mariah became jealous and Damran summoned images of her three favourite visitors to fuck the woman while Damran fucked Anwell.

“How lovely,” Damran said, smiling widely at Anwell. His eyes were focused on her face, and he returned the expression.

“Can I come?” he panted. “Please? Damran I want to come, I want to know what it feels like to come like a woman.”

“Oh, Anwell,” Damran groaned, and took his cock in one massive hand. “Come for me. Come.” He clenched, wailed Damran’s name, and rocked his hips up as he came, twitching and moaning. His legs opened wide, feet waving wildly in the air as Damran continued to fuck him. A moment later his cock spurted all over the both of them, and he moaned, wordlessly begging for rest. Damran obliged.

She left him to rest as Mariah continued with the illusions, and went to bathe. She left the water cold, slipped into the water, and rested at the bottom of the pool until someone called out to her.

“Gadreel,” she greeted, slipping into the office.

“Damran. How have you been?”

“Fine. You heard of William?”

“I... Of course you’d know that’s why I called you.” Gadreel sighed explosively, rubbing her face. “What’s your game with him?”

“One of the voices I ate loves him. He smells nice.”

“Oh.” Gadreel looked up at her. “Well. That’s not what I expected.”

“I can tell.”

Gadreel simply stared at her. She wasn’t sure what to say. “Well. Alright then. Enjoy it, I suppose. Oh, people have been wondering what you’re going to do with Mariah and Anwell.”

“I’m keeping Anwell. He will live long past you all. He’s nice to have around.”

“I see. And the woman?”

Damran shrugged. “We have an agreement. As long as she’s pregnant with my spawn, I’ll keep fucking her.”

“Are we going to have a little Damran running around?”

“No, I’ll eat it when it comes out.”

Gadreel looked a little queasy at the images she conjured at Damran’s words, but held it back admirably. “Alright. I know you can keep a handle on things. How many voices is it now?”

“Five hundred and twelve.”

“That’s a lot more than what you started with. You keep eating them?”

“Yes. They make me stronger.”

“You, or Damran?”

“Me.”

“Alright.” Gadreel waved her away. Damran sniffed the air, and smiled. Gadreel had need. Damran would provide.


	34. Rhubarb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're this far in you don't need to be warned.

Damran liked visiting with civilians. There was always a seat that emptied when she moved to take it. Food was offered, a pleasant aroma of fear and anxiety accompanied trembling limbs, and entertaining was provided. Sometimes, she’d sit in at a meal or a family gathering and simply watch the reactions.

This time, however, the food offered was pitiful compared to the feast that had taken the seat next to her. He was a large man who grew fat off of rich, buttery meats and expensive desserts. She could smell his arrogance, thinking himself above her. She smiled down at him, and as she tasted the first tingle of terror in his scent, the heady mix of fear and confusion, she leaned down and bit into his shoulder. There was a thick layer of fat marbled into the meat and it was smooth and metallic on her tongue.

“I don’t like screamers,” she warned the rest of the family, who fled screaming despite her warning. She debated for a moment whether to enjoy her feast or chase after the screamers. With a sigh of disappointment, she looked down at the screaming man. “I’d best not waste food,” she said with a regretful smile. “That would be just rude.”

She pinned him to the ground, easily overpowering him. Damran continued on his shoulder, tearing out the large muscles with her hands, her gauntlets faded back into her flesh. She reveled in the feeling of raw meat between her fingers, pulled and tore at it with her teeth. She took his arm next, peeling the skin off and feasting on the twitching, fatty treasure beneath it. She took special care with his palm, cooking it with heat radiating from her hand as he struggled in a futile attempt to escape.

Damran bent down and opened his mouth, using her teeth to tear out his tongue. The muscle was dense, rubbery, and tasted of wine. She chewed on it, humming thoughtfully. “Wine for breakfast? Not a very healthy lifestyle you lead, my friend,” she commented.

His chest was carved open and explored next, and she cut through tender organs to sever his spine with a single squeeze of her powerful hand, crushing two vertebrae. He continued to scream, beg and plead, but Damran had already tuned him out in favour of eating her meal. She tasted a section of his intestines, scowled, and dropped them back into the cavity. They tasted the liver next, licking their lips thoughtfully. They shrugged, eating the rest of it by tearing off hunks and dropping them into their waiting mouth.

Damran tried a piece of his thigh next, peeling off part of the skin and taking one of the large muscles. It was a long, thick strip of meat, strong enough to support the man’s previously massive weight. She bit at it, savouring the rich taste. The other large thigh muscles followed. The man had fallen into shock by the time she was taking out his femur to crack open and suck out the marrow.

When she reached again for his organs, his eyes were glazed over. Distracted, she popped them out and squished them between her teeth, letting the viscous fluid run over her tongue. “A treat,” she murmured, taking the tender muscles around his other shoulder for Mariah. Damran ate his other arm, cracked open the bones and ate the marrow, and took his other thigh muscles and femur for later, to chew.

She left what remained of his corpse, cleaning the gore off her armour with a thought. She had passed by a lovely annual family gathering on her way here, one she recognized from previous years. The grandmother always brought a delectable rhubarb pie and the father had a meat pie with a heady blend of spices. They had thought to leave an extra place for her this time, and she was never one to disappoint.


	35. William, End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're this far in you don't need to be warned. (Doing this for you, K)

Damran was in Northrend again, but she didn’t search for William. She could sense his absence.

“Where is he?” she asked, staring down - and down - at his superior.

“He’s dead,” the man said bluntly. “If you truly valued him, leave his body be. We send our boys home where their mums can mourn them properly.”

“He’ll rot by that time,” Damran said.

“So be it. Better to rot than to suffer you.”

She tilted her head slowly at him. She could hear his heart beating under his breastplate - he was afraid of her. Any creature with base instinct would be. But he was only trying to protect his soldier. “I will take him home,” Damran said. “It will take ten minutes to pull myself and his corpse through the Under.”

“The what?” 

“The Under. There is the Nether, the Void, and there is the Under. Mages touch the boundary between here and the Under when they open portals.” She was feeling oddly patient today, she noted. “I will take him. Or I will wait here next to him and take ship with him.”

The officer regarded her oddly. His scent tipped towards confusion, and his brow furrowed slowly over several moments. “Why?” he asked. “I know who, what you are. Why d’you care so much about one man?”

“William,” Damran started, “was a strange man. I enjoyed his company for what it was.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I wasn’t aware I had to.”

“It’d be the civil thing to do.”

“Why should I be civil?” Damran asked lowly. “I don’t get anything out of it.”

The officer’s eyes had a steely edge now, and he stank of anger and fear in equal measure, but his voice remained calm. “I asked you why you care for William, and while I would like an answer because he was my soldier and brother-at-arms, I am completely aware you don’t have to do anything.”

Damran’s gaze was unblinking, unmoving, as she spoke. “I am Many, and not all of them want the same thing. They are One, too, and one loved William.”

The officer started, eyes widening. “I wasn’t aware you could love,” he said incredulously.

“One can love,” Damran said, “no matter what Many they are a part of. I did not disrespect William in life and I would not do so in death. I will bring him to the Stormwind cemetery, where his grandfather and sister lay, and your people can see his family.”

“I don’t think you’d listen if I said no, so I’ll say yes,” the officer sighed. “I’ll warn you, he’s not in good shape. The undertaker’s going to have a hard time making him right.”

Damran followed the stale scent of William’s skin to the morgue, frozen over to keep the bodies inside from decomposing before they could be properly laid to rest. William was laid out on a low table, bisected nearly in two from a blow that cleaved into his shoulder. The cut went nearly to his crotch. His legs were both mangled by undead jaws, his face torn at with a nerubian’s scythe-like arms, and there were several open punctures in his chest the size of Damran’s fist.

He put one hand on William’s frozen chest and with a thought, William’s body was completely repaired. He looked like he did the last time Damran had visited, save that now he was pale, unsmiling and without laughter. With another thought, Damran separated the layers of space and time around her, reaching down to the Under. She folded it upon itself and stepped through with William in her hands, setting foot in the Stormwind cemetery in front of the undertaker’s mortuary.

The lock clicked and the door opened of its own accord, allowing Damran access. The Undertaker was a tall, thin man, and knew her well by this time. “Another one?” he asked. “Or... No, this isn’t one of yours.”

“William,” Damran said simply.

“Oh, a friend?” The Undertaker asked, smiling widely. “I see, I see. Lay him here. Yes. You’ve repaired him, I see. No fun for me then. Shall I contact the family?” The Undertaker held William’s dog tags in his hand, having pulled them out from under his tunic. Damran reached out and took them, the chain phasing through William’s neck. She made a duplicate, handing the copy back to the Undertaker and letting the original slip into her pocket dimension. “I see, I see. I’ll get this done quick, then.” The Undertaker knew her well. He slid away, into another room.

Damran leaned over William, placing a wide hand over his chest. The heart was still. The soul inside her wailed, tried to pull at it, make it sound again. Damran silently pushed down, feeling William’s frozen ribs creak. He took his hand back, taking what little was left of William’s essence, imbuing it through a layer of space into the dog tags. Damran left in silence, and found a perch on a high tower of the city walls. He would watch the funeral from there, in two day’s time.


	36. William, Remembered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're this far in you don't need to be warned.

The guild compound felt louder than normal, though Damran reasoned it was because of her increased sensitivity. Anwell seemed to feel it, quieting his presence and attending to her needs without a word, without any invitations. He understood that however oddly she went about it, she was mourning his loss. Mariah did not understand, and bothered Damran even as she sat down to eat a bit of the food Anwell offered.

“Damran,” she whined, running her hands over Damran’s chest and crawling into her lap. “Damran, I need it. Please. I could give it to you, better than a man, I could-”  
Damran’s hand found Mariah’s stomach, crawled up from it to her heart. Mariah’s feet were inches above the floor, the bottom of her ribcage braced on Damran’s forearm. 

Damran could hear the fetus inside her, almost ready for birth, complaining. Mariah gasped, trying to say something, but only blood came from her throat. Anwell watched silently, staring over Damran’s shoulder. Damran could hear the whisper of his thoughts, judging Mariah for her disrespect, for her desperation, for her selfishness. Damran squeezed Mariah’s heart, reached into her brain with a thought and halted the electricity sparking along its paths. Damran reached into her womb with her other hand and pulled out the child, cut the umbilical cord and fed it with base energy from the Under.

It squalled as Anwell took it in gentle hands. Damran could hear him moving about her quarters, plugging the deep sink in the pool’s side room and filling it with warm water to clean off the babe. It screamed, flailing its still-weak limbs. Damran searched through its mind, feeling a strong demonic influence. She purged it, consuming it as fuel to power the babe’s individual mind. It would be Anwell’s to raise, she decided, or she would have it given to the orphanage to be raised properly. William had wanted a child with his sweetheart in Dalaran.

Damran stood, slipped into the room behind Anwell and picked up the babe. She was not wearing her armour and she felt Anwell’s hand on her back, warm and solid. She changed the babe’s features, both mental and physical, and reached deep to do it. The babe’s eyes were dark green like William’s lover, and his nose turned up at the tip like William’s. His hair was the same shade as William’s, tightly curled like his lover’s, and his skin darkened slightly to a tone somewhere between those of his parents.

“Let your mother name you,” Damran murmured, setting wards about the baby so that it could be seen safely to adulthood. She handed it down to Anwell. “There is a woman named Hadri Gehlren in Dalaran. See her son safely to her. Tell her that William is dead and gone, but their child needs a mother.”

“Shall I tell her it comes from you?”

“It’s not mine anymore. It’s as much William and Hadri as it would have been if she’d pushed it out through her own vagina.”

“I understand.” There was a hint of mirth to Anwell’s lips. “Will you be alright?”

“I’ll be just fine. It’s only one voice.”

“I know, but I am worried for you. You lost someone precious.”

She gave Anwell a fond smile, cupped his cheek for a moment. “There’s no need to worry about me. Get the child to Dalaran. I will be here when you return.”

Damran watched him take a hired mage’s portal to Dalaran, a ward-stone set up to protect the babe’s fragile body from the Nether. A healthy body would not be affected, but for a newborn, effects could be disastrous. Damran watched through Anwell’s eyes as he tracked down Hadri with ease, delivered the news and the babe. She could sense the lingering energies in its flesh, and a shudder of repulsion was the first and last sign of anything negative Hadri could have held for the child. Making its features so obviously similar to William had been the right choice.

Damran did not watch as Hadri thanked Anwell tearfully, kissing the babe’s forehead as she walked away. Damran did not listen to Hadri’s thoughts as the mage promised to care for the babe, to see it healthy and happy as William had not been. She did not listen to Hadri’s thoughts as she prayed that Damran had not hurt William, because Hadri could not imagine that Damran could do something unselfish unless it was from guilt.


	37. Just Like Old Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're this far in you don't need to be warned.

Damran did not feel angry, depressed, or even happy after William’s death. It hardly affected her at all save to remind her of how easily mortals died. Anwell was not immortal, though elves did live a far sight longer than the other races. She took the time to imbue his brain, his flesh and bones, and his spirit with her own strength. “You are not leaving me for a very long time,” she told him as tendrils of magic prodded at his innards.

“I’d prefer that,” he answered easily, staying relaxed with some effort even as his affected muscles seized and twitched.

Damran had enjoyed bringing William pleasure as a human would, and she tried it with several others from different races. None had the same effect as him, and she continued on as she usually would, enjoying the momentary and the lasting pleasures.

Damran found a man full of envy and bent him over a table, taking him violently, uncaring and smiling. She threw him to the ground and used him, the heat of her completely encasing him as he cried all the way to an orgasm. She strangled him as she rode him, slowly piercing through the muscles and tendons in his neck until his head hung from a rope of skin. She took his soul and added it to her ever-growing collection of voices. Its pain was drowned out and soon smothered by the others, slowly sapping away most of its individuality.

Damran found a woman full of hate and dragged her screaming by the hair through her own home, scattering her servants. The woman was bruised as she was dragged down stairs, scraped as she was pulled over rough ground, and bloodied when Damran threw her into the rose garden. Wordlessly, almost mindlessly, Damran tore her clothes away, threw them at the bodyguards that hovered by uselessly. They did not want to approach Damran, no matter how well-paid they were. The woman cursed them as she sobbed, screamed, tried to claw her way out of the rosebushes. They tore at her, but on Damran’s skin they were gentle as a lover’s caress.

Damran took hold of the minds of the three bodyguards that remained. They stripped their lower halves bare and one held the woman’s arms while the other two took turns using her. When one was spent inside her, the other took his place as he held her arms. All three had their turns as Damran watched, smiling down at the woman, stroking herself slowly over the woman’s face. She had the three men retreat, the woman no longer struggling until Damran started to fuck her again. Her limbs shook with exhaustion, with helplessness and desperation and delicious terror and disgust, and Damran hit her end continuously, too large to fit into her fully. “This isn’t very satisfying,” Damran told her. With a little twist, Damran opened her cervix and reveled in the screams of pain she caused as her cock’s head banged against the inside of the woman’s womb and caught on the edges of the opening.

“I could go for days like this,” Damran told her. The woman’s legs were hitched over Damran’s hips, waving loosely in the air. Damran’s hands were planted on the ground above the woman’s shoulders to keep her from moving away as Damran’s rough fucking pushed her up with every thrust.

She had one bodyguard, still under thrall, come over and kneel over the woman’s face, facing away from Damran who adjusted to give him room. He leaned over and throat-fucked the woman, choking her and not pausing to let her breath. After a minute, she was unconscious. After another two, she was dead, her brain still trying to send signals to an unresponsive body. The man kept fucking her until he came, and then Damran had them redress, walk back into the manor, rooted around their minds to change the memories, and released them. They ran outside to find the woman, dead with cum on her face, still being fucked by Damran. One man vomited, another turned to drag him away with a pale face. The third stared blankly, then turned on his heel and walked away quickly after the other two. Damran kept going, enjoying the sensation of a malleable body. She sucked out the woman’s soul, consumed it and added it to her strength, and kept going.

She returned to Anwell almost a day later. Her hips were a bit sore, which was unusual but highly satisfying. Damran had found a death knight after they had finished with the woman, and the death knight, while very much capable of feeling discomfort, hadn’t felt the pain until Damran had reached in with arcane magic to temporarily reanimate the cells and nerves connected to his rear end. That had been fun, especially considering the death knight had thanked her for letting him feel pain again. She looked forward to seeing if any other death knights would thank her for it.

“Damran!” Anwell greeted, throwing his arms around her waist in welcome. “How are you? Are you limping?” he asked, concerned.

“No, just a bit stiff. I had a very nice night.”

“That’s good,” he said, expression easing. Damran slid a hand down the back of his head, through his silky tresses, over his buttocks. He shivered, humming in delight. “Oh, that’s nice,” he said to the tendrils of heat she sent into his back.

“Mm. Know what else would be nice?” she murmured , licking the pointed tip of his ear. It twitched under her tongue, reddening as Anwell blushed.

“I have a few ideas,” he said coyly.

Damran took him on his back, with a care she rarely afforded anyone. His legs were over her hips, feet waving in the air as he tried to spread his legs further, trying to get her deeper inside him. Today he was only male by his own choice, and she enjoyed the familiar heat of his mouth under hers. Her hands first braced on the mattress over his shoulders, and then she buckled down, wrapping herself around him in response to his wordless pleas for warmth, touch. Her hands were large enough to completely cover his ribs and he squirmed in her arms, hands clenching in her short hair.

“Damran!” he cried. “Oh, holy Light, Damran!” His toes curled as he came, pressed tight between their stomachs. She gave him a break, worked him back to fully erect, and over several hours satisfied him completely, in several ways. 

She left him basking in the afterglow on his bed and went to bathe in her pool. The water was cold, ice forming at the top. She played with the miniature floes and watched them butt up against each other. She absently kicked at some of them, bit into one and crunched it between her teeth. She thought, if she could find another William, she’d like to introduce them to Anwell. The elf was Death in dark leather, could work out the most stubborn knots and cramps, and a master of alchemy. Not to mention the kinds of noises he could draw out of a willing throat.


	38. Spider's Silk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're this far in you don't need to be warned.

Damran rarely participated in guild events. This particular guild meeting was to discuss upcoming raids. The Draenor campaign was thus far a success and the Blackrock Foundry was on the map for invasion.

“I might come,” Damran said, her helm split to reveal her face. She was bored, and it showed. “Depends on what you’ll yell at me for.”

“You know the rules regarding Seekers,” Gadreel said exasperatedly.

“I meant about the orcs while in front of Seekers,” Damran said. “You yelled at me last time. Why would I want to get yelled at?”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were pouting,” Gadreel said. She sighed heavily. “Alright. The Commander, our own Banelix, has opened negotiations with the other officials in the campaign to have the Glory Seekers put on commission for the Foundry. Our team of eight added indispensible skills to the raids on the Imperator’s city and they’re open to the idea. Damran, if you come along as a Glory Seeker it would greatly aid our case.”

“Why would I?” Damran asked.

“I hear the Foundry has some interesting elementals,” Tessbara offered. The Wildhammer dwarf was a shaman who had joined during the Cataclysm when the Alliance had helped her people recover from the Twilight invasion.

“Eh.” Damran shrugged. “I can go to the Firelands for that.”

“Alone?”

Damran looked at Tessbara with one eyebrow raised, until the dwarf remembered who she was talking to.

The Guild Master and her assistants spoke at length on several other topics, including their members in Dalaran and those among them who had broken laws and awaited judgement. Some had already earned punishments of differing severities, ranging from public service - usually cleaning a public area in the city - to execution.  
Damran left when she grew bored, wandering the Mage district. She found a mage of sufficient skill and had them open a portal to Dalaran. There was a fleeting though that compared Damran to the genesaur that had nearly reached Stormwind through a portal from Draenor, and then Damran was in the city of mages.

The portal-tender turned to greet her, then paled when he saw who it was and looked down, stepping back to let her pass. Damran patted his head absently with a clawed gauntlet as she passed, narrowing avoiding piercing his neck when he tried to look up abruptly at the touch.

The city was always rife with things to do. Damran spent some time in the sewers, watching cage matches and betting. She always won and people quickly learned how to use that to their advantage.

She climbed up the buildings like a spider, finding a seat to watch the sunset from a rooftop. There was already a young mage there when she reached the flat roof of the tower, and the young woman - twenty-two, born in March, arcane mage, excelling in portal and dimension theory - didn’t notice her. Damran listened to her mind ramble for a time. The woman was an anxious sort, having learned only recently how to tame the anxiety with awareness. The sun set, and took with it the warmth that, with the use of foci, heated the city during the day. The mage was prepared, having done this many times before, and pulled a blanket over her shoulders. She turned to watch the moon rise, spotted Damran, and startled so badly she nearly fell off the roof. She caught herself, blushing furiously.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” she said. “Did you come to watch the sunset?”

“I already did,” Damran said. She had released her helm, letting it fade, and now she pulled herself onto the roof, crawling on her hands and feet. The mage watched, curious.

“You’re oddly good at that,” she commented lightly. Her eyes were wide, intensely curious, taking in everything, even the cocktail of energies that sparked along Damran’s nerves as she moved.

“I’ve had practice. Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all!” The mage moved from the center of the roof to give Damran room. “This is the best spot to watch the sun and the moon. It took a week to find it.”

Damran hummed, sitting cross-legged next to the woman. She imagined it would be nice to have the woman in her lap. She was notably fat, her cheeks round and rosy, her lips full, her clavicle just barely visible, her breasts heavy and big, her stomach wide, her hips preceded by a thick roll of fat. Damran imagined how thick her thighs must be as well, to support her, and how strong her body must be to store so much mana in the fat alongside calories.

When the moon was mid-way through the sky, the mage yawned. “Sorry,” she said past her hand. “Mm. It’s late for me. I’d better get some rest. Are you okay to get down? I can port you down, or if you’re uncomfortable with that I can use a slow-fall spell.”

“I’ll manage,” Damran said dryly. The woman had heard of her, no doubt, but not enough. “I think I’ll survive a sixteen-story drop.”

“Oh.” The mage blinked. “How do you do it? Do you reinforce your joints, or do you absorb the shock with magic, or do you transmute the energy of the impact, or do you redirect it into the ground, or...?”

Damran interrupted her before she could start to theorize. “My body is much, much stronger than a mortal’s body,” she said.

“Oh, I see. So your muscles are denser? Or maybe it’s more focused in your joints.”

“Everything,” Damran said. “Here, look.” She released the armour from her right arm, pulled back the skin and showed off the muscle. It didn’t bleed. “It is a bit denser, but it’s the connections between the strands that make the difference.”

“Oh, I see!” Completely undaunted by Damran’s display, which was highly unusual and a little disorienting, the mage leaned forward and splayed her fingers. “Do you mind?” she asked.

“No.”

Tendrils of magic, imitating the touch of fingers, prodded into the muscle to inspect it in fine detail. “Oh, what delicate spellwork,” the mage mumbled, sensing the strands of magic that sheathed and permeated each strand of muscle. “Absolutely fascinating. You see this sort of thing in dragons, but even they can’t get it so fine. It’s like spider’s silk.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh!” The mage’s fingers had slowly hovered closer to the bare muscle while she inspected it, and she snatched them back. “I’m sorry, I got a bit...eh...”

“I don’t mind,” Damran said. She folded the skin back over the muscle and the seams closed smoothly. The mage watched, fascinated.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Simple.” Damran conjured an arcane matrix that demonstrated the process, and the mage took it in, her head tilted slightly. Damran wanted to lick her bare neck and make her squirm. A soul cried out and Damran recognized the sound. It was not William’s soul but it was just as loud, and even more desperate, even more insistent, much louder than the others. “What’s your name?” Damran asked.

“Hm?” The mage had made a copy of the matrix with her magic, holding it between two wide hands. They were like bear paws, but the fingers looked graceful enough for the piano. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m Cassiopeia, but that’s a mouthful so people call me Cass most of the time. Or Cassie, or Pee if they feel original,” she added blandly. 

“Cass,” Damran said quietly, tasting the word. It was sweet like honey and spicy like cinnamon and warming like clove and smooth like chocolate - Cass liked sweets, it seemed.

“And you’re Damran, right?” Cass asked. “I mean, the armour kind of gave it away,” she laughed.

“Mm, I am.” There was a slowly building fear in Cass and Damran wanted it to take physical form so she could destroy it. “What school are you?”

“Arcane,” Cass said proudly. “Though I like frost, too. I get kind of... sick,” she said, gesturing to her stomach. “When I get too hot, I mean. So I like to make it cold around me so that doesn’t happen. And then I can snuggle under my blankets and enjoy the comfortable temperatures. How do people sleep when their bed’s boiling like a cauldron?” she exclaimed. “I can’t stand it! Seven seconds and I’m kicking the blankets off and screaming.”

Damran was smiling softly as the mage’s fear ebbed. She wasn’t happy, but she was light-hearted, curious, optimistic. There were hints at the edges of it that told Damran it was a recent way of life for her. It smelled much better than her fear. “I’m not affected by temperature very much,” Damran said.

“You’re lucky,” Cass pouted. “I can’t go anywhere hot if it’s humid. It sticks to you. Like a miasma. Ugh.” She shuddered in remembered disgust.

Damran realized why she was so relaxed towards Cass, why she had no thoughts of hurting her, raping her - Cass was full of scar tissue, on the inside, and she had smoothed it over like a shield. There was no rough edge to grab, nothing to corrupt in that regard. Damran wondered how her liver would taste, and brushed the thought aside. Cass had a lovely voice. “Do you sing?” Damran asked.

“Hm? Yes, sometimes. Well, not really. I mean...”

“I think your voice would sound lovely.”

“Do you?” Cass asked, embarrassed. “I don’t really sing often, so I won’t be as good as someone who does, and I don’t usually do it around other people. I mean, I barely do it alone. It’s just not something that I...”

“You don’t have to be shy with me,” Damran said. “Though I think you would be anyway, even if I said that. I’ve heard much worse than someone singing slightly off-key. I’ve also done much worse.”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Cass asked, and there was a thought of -

When she rapes people does she clean herself off after?  
I wonder if she can even get diseases?  
Does she produce sperm?  
What would that sort of system look like?  
Does she have female and male systems?  
Those would fit in her body, it’s pretty big.  
Oh, is she big?  
Probably, she’s over seven feet tall.  
Or he?  
Oh, no.  
What if I’ve been using the wrong pronouns?  
Did I even use pronouns?  
Oh, she’s staring at me.

In the space of two seconds, Cass’s thoughts raced as only a mage’s could. “Well, it’s a bit late for me to sing,” she said.

“Okay. Maybe another time, if you feel like it.”

“Maybe.”

Damran watched her start to pack up, and stood when Cass fidgeted. Cass was too polite to simply get up and leave, so Damran made it easy. “You come here every night?” Damran asked.

“Yeah, just about.”

“Do you want company for tomorrow night?”

Cass looked up - and up, and up, and Cass was barely over five feet and Damran felt a twinge of directionless arousal as the mage thought How big is she? How would that feel? - and the voice, Cass’ voice in Damran’s body, grew restless in response. “Oh, um. Well, if you’ve got nothing else to do but listen to me ramble and maybe answer invasive and probably rude and presumptive questions, I wouldn’t mind company at all.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cass smiled, unsure and surprised. Damran guessed that people usually didn’t take so well to her inquisitive nature. With a step backwards, Damran fell from the roof and landed in a crouch, her knees taking the impact with the barest of efforts. She looked up to see Cass watching. She waved, and turned to walk away through an alley. There was a comfortable tree to perch in where she could watch the people in the tavern having drunken sex in rented rooms from a few streets over.


	39. Nonsense Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're this far in you don't need to be warned.

Damran met Cass on the roof for three weeks. Every night Cass asked dozens of questions on very specific topics, trying to dig in deep to the root. “Yes, but what are they made of?” Cass asked insistently when Damran tried to explain matter.

“Little pieces,” she said. “Stuck together. How you stick them together makes difference substances. Water is arranged in one way, made of two things that are arranged in their own ways from the same basic matter.”

“But what’s that made of?” Cass asked.

“Matter? Smaller matter.”

“What’s it made of?” Cass asked, trying to wrap her mortal mind around it.

“Matter.”

“What’s it made of?” she cried, growing aggravated but also amused at her own aggravation. At least she could laugh at herself. “I can’t picture it! What’s it made of?!” she demanded, trying to throttle an imaginary throat.

Damran laughed at her display of frustration, and gently took her hands, lowering them. “I can’t really explain it to you,” Damran said. “It’s something I can sense but I can’t put into words beyond what I’ve already said. I’m sure dragons might have words for the bits and pieces, but probably they don’t know any more than I do about the base level.”

“Is it all the same stuff at the base level?”

“Yes. It’s just arranged differently, and that decides its properties.”

“Okay. I’m going to focus on the two different things in water and try to put the other one aside for now.”

Damran explained the two substances that made up water, until Cass yawned twice in twenty seconds. The moon was in the center of the sky, and it was late for the mage. “You should get home to bed,” Damran said. “You need sleep.”

“You don’t? You said it like you don’t.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh. How’d you do that?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, if you go home now.”

“But I wanna know!” Cass said, sounding childish while being perfectly aware of that fact.

Damran smiled. “You’ll be up here until morning. Don’t you have things to do?”

“Yes, I work part-time making portal stones during the week. The rest of the time I’m apprenticed,” she said. “I want to know.” She sighed. “But you’re right. I need to get some sleep.” She paused, wet her lips. Damran heard her trying to organize her thoughts, try to find a way to phrase things that was perfectly obvious but also subtle and clever and not hinting at things she didn’t want and Damran, feeling her frustration grow, feeling hints of self-loathing start, spoke.

“I will come with you, if you like,” Damran said. “You’ve said before you sometimes have trouble falling asleep because your thoughts won’t stop. I can help with that.”

“Yeah?” Cass asked. “You don’t mind?”

“No, not at all.” And then there was a sudden rush of thought, mixed in with volatile emotions that Cass had tried to smother - 

Please touch me, no one ever touches me, I don’t know how to get it, I don’t know how to touch people, how do they do it so easily so casually please touch me I don’t even remember what it feels like you can hurt me after please just touch me once, gentle, like friends do I don’t even know if they’re my friends why can’t I do it why can’t I touch people why can’t I get close to them please you would be warm I could make it cold and you’d be warm on chilled skin but I don’t want I can’t do that, I don’t want you to start asking for things I can’t do that it makes me feel dirty and bad please just touch me, just once, please

Damran stood, offering her hand bare of armour. She had explained a week prior how her armour seemed to melt into her skin and solidify from energy at will. Cass took her hand, gripping it firmly and hesitating to let go. “Port us down?” Damran prompted. With a flick of her fingers, Cass reached down to the last layer of space, just before the Under, inside the Nether, and opened a tunnel through it. She pulled herself and Damran through a moment later, they were on the ground. “It feels colder down here than up there,” Damran commented.

“It happens. The cold collects on the streets when the solar foci are off for the night.”

“You prefer the cold, yes?” Damran asked. “It makes it easier to handle warmth.”

“Yeah, basically.”

“May I touch you?” Damran asked, already knowing the answer and knowing that Cass wanted her to ask, to show the amount of respect in the question.

“Sure, go ahead.”

Damran wrapped her arm around Cass’s back. The mage’s shoulders were wide and powerful from tearing magic asunder, from manipulating heavy energies all her life. Mage’s bodies were not the same as a warrior’s or a soldier’s but they were well-developed in order to support the mage’s efforts in magical manipulation. They had to be, to withstand extreme heat, extreme cold, powerful electrical currents and intense arcane streams. 

Damran’s arm was light on Cass’s back, her hand just barely touching her side. Cass tried to huddle into Damran’s side without actually doing it. Damran put just a bit more weight behind her arm, her hand, and kept it at an even level despite and because of Cass’s desperation for it. If she wasn’t careful Damran could easily cause Cass to feel as though she were being taken advantage of.

Cass lived on the fourth floor of an apartment tower with her roommate, a battle-mage named Jessica who had a night-shift in the city guard. They rarely saw each other, Cass had said two weeks ago, but they were buddies, not quite friends, from the Stormwind Academy of Magic and got along well.

“I’ll wait here while you change,” Damran said.

“Well actually I usually sleep naked,” Cass said quickly.

“Okay. Then I’ll wait here while you get undressed and into bed.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.”

Damran waited a few minutes, listening to Cass’s clothes rustle and then her bed creaking as she got comfortable. “Okay,” she heard even as she was already walking noiselessly towards the bedroom. Even wearing her armour, she could move in completely silence. “So what are you gonna... do?” Cass asked, yawning.

“This.” Damran touched a fingertip to Cass’s head, whose eyes crossed slightly as she tried to watch. A moment later, her eyes fluttered shut as Damran slowed her body’s processes to a rate they would take in sleep. In response, she fell asleep. Damran watched until her eyes started to move about rapidly under the lids, and left through the window, dropping to the ground below.


	40. Construct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're this far in you don't need to be warned. (Hi, K)

For another month and a half, Damran met with Cass on the roof. She had originally thought Cass was asexual but now, it seemed, she leaned more towards demisexual. It was a newer term Damran recognized to mean that sexual attraction would only occur if there was already some form of bond in place, either platonic or romantic or otherwise. For three days, correlating with the short period before Cass’s monthly, there was a thick edge of arousal to her scent when Damran appeared at the edge of the roof. “Are you on your monthly?” Damran asked.

“Yes. Oh, can you smell blood? Do I smell like it? Oh,” she said, colouring in embarrassment.

“My sense of smell is better than a worg’s,” Damran said. “Better than that. Don’t worry about it too much.”

“Well, someone can smell it!” Cass said. Now she felt embarrassed, ashamed, uncomfortable, bad.

“Do you really think I mind the scent of blood? Or, for that matter, the scent of anything? I’m seven hundred and odd souls and demons in one body,” she said blandly. “I’ve experienced my fair share of things.”

“Do you get your monthly?” Cass asked.

“I could, if I wanted to. I have control over my own body. I can control everything about it. It would take just a slight adjustment here and there to cause me to start having monthlies.”

“Have you had them, ever?”

“I tried it for a handle of months. Not the most pleasant experience.”

“No, it’s usually not.”

“Do you cramp badly?”

“Sometimes, just as the bleeding starts.” At Damran’s revelation, Cass had started to relax as though she were commiserating with a fellow female. “That’s about the only time heat helps me in the abdominal area.”

“Certain foods help. Sex or masturbating helps, too, as they stimulate the muscles and also release certain hormones that also stimulate them, as well as imitate painkillers.”

“Oh.” Cass coloured again. “Well, I’m not really into sex and especially not with strangers.”

“You’re not close to anyone?”

“No, not really.” Cass tried to shrug it off.

“You’re not into sex?” Damran said. “Not everyone is,” she said with a slight shrug.

“Well, I mean. I don’t think I’m into sex. I’m only twenty-two, I haven’t really been in a close relationship with anyone so I haven’t tried...”

“What about thinking about it?”

“Eh.” Cass shrugged. “I’ve never really felt the kinds of things Jessica or the others describe. You know, like feeling hot ‘n bothered? Nothing.”

Damran’s dancing around Cass was a delicate matter, as the mage had a lot of worries and bad memories she kept to herself. In order to gain her trust, Damran had to say things a certain way, in a certain order. She relished the challenge, the slow approach. Her Voice was impatient, but Damran was in charge and wouldn’t let mere impatience ruin it. “You might be asexual - you don’t feel sexual attraction. Maybe, if you’ve never been close enough to someone, you might be demisexual. You only experience sexual attraction if there’s already some bond in place.” To prevent Cass from squashing herself down to keep her identity, Damran provided an alternative that fit the same narrative.

“Oh. I’ve never heard of that - well, I don’t really talk to people so I might not have...”

“Demisexual is relatively new. It’s gaining traction quickly in Stormwind. Banelix describes herself as such.”

“Banelix... Commander Banelix Frosthbreath?” Cass exclaimed. “The Glory Seeker? That Banelix?”

“Yes.”

“You know her?”

“I’m affiliated with the guild,” Damran said. “Somewhat. A bit. I occasionally raid with them. And I have a room in the compound in exchange for not moving to harm any of the members. A deal with their Guild Master.”

“Oh, that’s so cool,” Cass gushed. “I hear Arcana is considering joining them! She’s only the most powerful arcane mage Dalaran’s seen in nearly a century!”

“She’s in talks with Gadreel, but nothing’s been made firm yet.”

“Oh, wow.”

Damran shrugged loosely. “Takes all kinds.”

“Mm.”

They fell silent until Cass, who had gone over what she wanted to say a hundred times in two minutes and made minute changes to every word, spoke. “So, you... do bad things, right? Like. You rape people, you torture them...”

“I eat them, sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Cass cleared her throat. “But you seem to know a lot about human... or, I mean, mortal sexuality and stuff.”

“The things I do to people are taken directly from their own imagination and fueled and tainted by their own fear,” Damran said. “If I eat a man alive it’s because he most fears being bitten, perhaps by dogs, and by extension he fears being bitten, and somewhere deep he’s aware that people bite, too. I take that and twist it the rest of the way. If I rape a man over a table it’s because he fears being raped - whether or not he’s done it to other people is irrelevant, usually. He’s aware that there are people who can overpower him and hurt him, and I twist that the rest of the way into rape.”

“I see. So you really are familiar with things like sexuality,” Cass said.

“Intimately.”

“And you can... I guess, see into people? To see what they fear?”

“I see anything I want to see,” Damran said. “I can see what people fear, what they enjoy, what they crave, what they do or don’t want to hear.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes. Keep in mind that I’m not human, though I do look it. I see everyone, and move accordingly.” Damran smiled slightly. “I’ve had people offer a lot of gold to spy on people.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t. I have no need for gold. I can hunt my own meat, make my own armour. I provide for anyone under my care, though really it’s only Anwell. He seems quite happy there.”

“Anwell?”

“My blood elf,” Damran said. “My companion. He’ll outlive everyone but me, and maybe a few of the older dragons.”

“I see. Is that why you chose a blood elf?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Cass took a moment to think on the implications of it before speaking again, slowly and with care. “So do you feel loneliness?”

“I can, if I let myself.”

“Oh.”

“I have the full range of emotions any mortal would,” Damran said. “I also can simply choose to ignore them or turn them off for a time. I can turn off several and leave others active. I have full control over myself because I am a vessel for Many rather than a single living organism.”

“Oh. Oh!” Cass made the connection. “Oh, okay. I get it. You’re a construct.”

Damran smiled down at her softly and Cass coloured a deep red from her ears to her throat. “You’re cute like that,” Damran commented. Cass huddled her shoulders into her blanket. “Is your skin getting chilled?”

“I’m fine.”

“I could warm you. At least your fingers. It’s colder tonight than normal.” She held out her hand and Cass took it slowly, bringing it to her lap under the blanket and letting Damran’s hand enfold both of hers.

“Your hand’s big,” she commented.

“I’m seven and a half feet tall,” Damran said. “I am big.”

Cass’s scent spiked with arousal, and her thoughts took a turn. How big? How would that feel? Better than my fingers, for sure. Too big, maybe. She could change it, if she can control her body...

“Though I suppose I could shrink myself,” Damran mused. “Adjust myself to a normal human size. Then again, why would I want to do that? Maybe I’ll grow for a while. Eight feet. See what people do. Anwell might enjoy it. He’s not asexual,” Damran stage-whispered, and Cass giggled nervously.

“He... Uh, that is, you two... often have sex?”

“Mm, pretty often. A lot. I let him decide what we do and I go along with it. It’s always been like that, even when he was broken. I told him, I will take you when I want to, but you will always have control over how.”

“And you listened to him?”

“I don’t lie,” Damran said, and her tone was firm, unyielding. They didn’t lie.

“Oh.”


	41. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're this far in you don't need to be warned.

Damran waited another month, until Cass realized from the amalgamation of info Damran had shared about herself that Cass could simply ask for things and Damran would provide. 

On their rooftop, only ten minutes after the sun set, Cass spoke. “Damran,” she said. “Can you see into my head right now?”

“Yes, and no, you don’t have to think specific things. I see the pieces. I’m good with puzzles. Takes a second, maybe two.”

“Oh, good. Okay. Well. Um.”

“It would be better for you if you said it out loud,” Damran prompted. “It really would be.”

“Okay. Well. If... I was wondering if you could... Oh, I don’t know how to say it...” Cass mumbled, covering her face for a moment. “I was wondering if you could, ah, show me the ropes, for lack of a better term.”

“There’s a better term and you know what it is,” Damran said. She would draw it out of Cass, slowly.

“I want to try having sex,” Cass said quietly and slowly. “I was wondering if you could help me with that.”

“Certainly. Did you have something in mind? Oral, vaginal penetration, toys, mutual masturbation?”

“What?” Cass said. “Uh. Oh, Light, I don’t know. Never mind,” she said. “It’s... never mind. Forget I asked. Just...” She made to stand, and Damran took her hand.

“It’s normal to be nervous,” she said. “You’re stepping into something you’ve never experienced and there’s a lot of new things to learn. We’ll go slowly.”

“No, just...” Cass tried to wave it away, unable to speak properly for a moment.

“Very slowly,” Damran promised. “We’ll start with basic touch, since you’re so unused to it. Here.” Damran moved so that they were sitting opposite each other, and took Cass’s hands in hers. Damran’s hands dwarfed those of the mage, and she slowly worked the tension from the fingers, the palms, and then the forearms. “This isn’t so bad, is it?” Damran asked with a smile.

“No, it’s not,” Cass said. “I just... I don’t want to wait. I’m tired of waiting.”

“I can see and I understand how you’re feeling right now,” Damran said. “But rushing into it, even with me, would only hurt you. Even with me, you’d feel the lack of build up, the sudden jump, and you’d end up feeling used, empty, and even more alone than before. This is better.”

“If you’re sure,” Cass said. “I can only assume you know these things.”

“We do,” Damran confirmed.

Each night Damran would work her way through Cass’s tense arms, and then her shoulders, her neck, her back, and then her legs. Damran was careful to keep her touch from being sexual - only the slightest hint, just enough to show Cass the barest intimation of what it could be. Just enough to keep her thinking about it.

After two and a half weeks Damran could smell Cass from downwind. She had been on the rooftop for some time for privacy, and had likely been thinking about Damran the entire time. Damran scaled the tower easily, popping her head over the edge. “Been here a while?” she asked, pulling herself up and walking over to sit down next to Cass. She had released her armour before moving to stand on the roof, replacing it with basic clothes - soft leather boots, loose pants tied at the waist, a long-sleeved shirt that was maybe a bit tighter than a normal shirt. Her black hair was a bit longer, reaching just below her earlobes.

“Maybe an hour,” Cass said. “No armour? Are those clothes the same type?”

“Yep.” Damran sat opposite her. Cass watched her move.

“What are we doing today?” she asked quietly. “The same thing?”

“Whatever you want. Well,” Damran said. “Whatever you want that’s reasonable.” Cass chewed on the inside of her cheek. Damran smiled slightly, seeing how she had laid out the blanket in hopes of some unspecific ‘more’. “How about I kiss you and you tell me if it’s reasonable?”

“Okay.”

Damran leaned forward until she was on her hands and knees, and closed the small distance between them. Cass leaned backwards as Damran got closer, eventually bracing her hands on the roof behind her and closing her eyes nervously. Damran gently touched their lips together for a moment. “Not so bad, is it?” she murmured, doing it again.

“Not so bad,” Cass mumbled.

Damran kissed her gently, hearing her heartbeat pick up more out of anticipation than actual excitement. Damran pressed Cass’s lower lip between hers for a moment, slid her lips over the mage’s, touched gently with just a bit of pressure, and just a bit more, until Cass had relaxed. Damran stopped, leaning back a bit. Cass’s eyes fluttered open to stare at her unsurely.

“That seems pretty reasonable,” Cass said.

“Good. I didn’t want to stop yet, either.” Damran kissed her a bit more firmly, tilting her head slightly, and when she paused Cass’s tongue darted out to taste Damran on her lips. Damran kissed her again as she was trying to wet her lips, and Cass’s breath stuttered with a tiny noise of surprise in her throat. She felt so awkward that Damran could hear it, but her tongue darted out to taste her lips as Damran was kissing her and in response, to show her that yes, it was something people did when kissing, Damran touched her tongue to Cass’s lower lip as she kissed her again.

“Still reasonable?” Damran asked.

“Mm, yeah.”

“You’ll get more comfortable with it the more you do it,” Damran said.

“I feel too awkward,” Cass complained, sitting up a bit suddenly. Damran retreated to give her room. “Could you just kiss me, I don’t know, extremely or whatever and then I can feel not so awkward?”

“Okay.” Damran kissed her open-mouthed, used her tongue to open her lips, and leaned forward so Cass would lie down. The mage did so willingly, responding slowly but well to Damran’s advances. With a few licks Damran had Cass’s mouth open and she slanted her mouth over the mage’s. Their tongue tasted along Cass’s teeth and Damran’s nostrils flared to take in the sudden rush of arousal that thickened the mage’s scent. 

The woman’s mouth was hot, sweet under Damran’s tongue and when Cass’s hands came to rest on Damran’s forearms after fluttering in the air, the mage moaned and squeezed Damran’s arms, rubbing her hands up and down the thick muscular limbs in obvious appreciation. Damran drew back before she could be tempted to press down, against, in the mage, feeling a bit short of breath. Cass, below her, was panting, blushing, her heartbeat pounding. “Oh, do that again,” she moaned. “Do it again. For an hour. All night.”

Damran chuckled. “I don’t think you...”

“I know what I want, you big red bastard, and I want you to do that again.”

Damran obeyed, keeping her hips up. The last thing her usually impeccable, unquestionable self-control needed was to feel Cass’s legs opening, her hips bucking up, rolling up into Damran’s, begging for contact... Damran groaned into her mouth, then pulled away suddenly. “Don’t do that,” Damran panted. “Don’t do that with your hips. Don’t do that.”

“What?” Cass panted. “Oh, that. Why?”

“Because I like it,” Damran answered. “I’ve never had a problem controlling myself. It’s usually just like controlling a puppet. I’m not actually in it. You’re making it hard.”

“Oh. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No. It means I don’t want to stop, I don’t want to hold back. I’m selfish by nature, Cass. If I want something I take it. If I told someone, tell me to stop and I will, I’d stop if they said to stop. I don’t think that’s going to work this time.”

“Oh.” Cass smelled a bit less of arousal now, a bit more of fear. A flash of thought no no get off no don’t do that no off get off off off no and Damran was sitting back, giving Cass ample space. “No, wait!” Cass sat up as well, reaching for her. “No, I didn’t mean that... I didn’t mean you had to...”

“I do,” Damran said, her breathing back to normal. “I don’t want to hurt you but that takes perfect self-control, which is something you make it impossible for me to have.”

“Why?”

“Because we want you.”

“So?” Cass was desperate to reclaim the warmth Damran had suddenly taken from her. Damran could almost hear her heart as it started to break. “So what? Don’t... You can’t do that,” Cass said quietly. “You can’t do that to me. You can’t just...” She broke off, turning away to hide her wet eyes, sitting cross-legged and hunched over. Damran heard her sniffle.

“Oh, no, Cass,” Damran moaned, crawling back over to her. “No, no, don’t cry, Cass. Please don’t cry.” She reached Cass, put her right hand beside her right knee and the other in front of her, slightly to the left, so Damran could hover over her. “Please don’t cry,” she repeated softly. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. Don’t cry.”

“You can’t do that to people,” Cass said, wiping at her nose. “You can’t do that to me. You can’t just... offer me something, start to give it to me, and then rip it away. You can’t do that.”

“I’m not, I’m sorry, I’m not leaving, I’m right here, please don’t cry.” Damran rested her cheek against the side of Cass’s head, trying to touch as much of her as she could. She folded herself against Cass’s much smaller frame, breathing deeply and regulating her own heartbeat to help Cass calm down.

Cass remained silent until Damran spoke again, quietly. “This is the first time I’ve ever felt unsure about my control over my own self. It’s scary to feel that. I don’t want to hurt you and I felt like I could, like I might. I’m usually the stage director - now I’m in the play and I’m not used to that. I’m not used to feelings things directly like this.”

“So? Normal people can control themselves when they’re aroused. No matter what some men say,” she grumbled. “Male humans, at least, and probably most other races get boners at a strong breeze. Then they go away.” She shrugged.

“I have literal demons in me, Cass, and if I slip they take over.”

Cass tensed, then, beneath and in her. “I forgot about that,” she whispered.

“It’s only happened once, and then I changed,” Damran said. “I... Ate them, I suppose. I fed them to the mortal souls and then I ate those. I guess, if I lost the lead for a moment the other souls would take over first. But I’m not sure which one, or which ones.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Most of them aren’t even really individual anymore,” Damran said. “They’re part of the Many, first. I... I don’t know. That’s why I’m scared. I always know.”

“It’s not so bad, not knowing,” Cass said. “I never know. Well, almost never. Most people don’t. We get by.” She turned to look up at Damran. “Are you going to leave?”

“No,” Damran said simply. “I don’t want to. Not unless you tell me to.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Cass said. “But... if you think you’re going to... to rape me...”

“I don’t know,” Damran said. “That’s the problem. I don’t feel things directly. I feel them through a filter, through the other souls. Now I’m feeling it through me and it’s weird.”

“What do you mean, me, other souls?” Cass asked.

“I’m me. I’m...” Damran huffed. “There’s one soul that’s stronger than the others. It took command of the mortal souls and is using their combined strength to command the demons. That’s me. The soul that is stronger is Damran, and all together they’re the Many, Damran.”

“I... Okay, I get it,” Cass nodded. “You’re used to feeling what the other souls feel rather than what you feel. And now you’re afraid you’re going to be too human, or whatever you are or were or whatever, and not the totally in-control... whatever you are. Construct.”

“Sure.” Damran smiled.

Cass licked her lips. “Kiss me again?”

Damran leaned down to kiss her softly. Cass took Damran’s face in her hands and held it so she couldn’t escape, and haltingly, nervously ran the tip of her tongue over Damran’s lips. Smiling, Damran moved around her so she was kneeling over Cass’s lap and held the mage’s face, kissing her deeply and slowly. Damran felt her heart beat faster, felt the voices start to murmur again. She felt out of control, slowed down, took a moment to breath, kissed Cass again. The mage made a noise in her throat, then moaned quietly into Damran’s mouth. Damran took another break, feeling arousal not of her own making.

“I’m not used to this,” she murmured before kissing Cass again. “But I like it.”

“I like it, too.”

Damran pulled away again. “That’s enough for me,” she said, out of breath. “I need to stop now, for a bit.”

“Don’t leave,” Cass said, gripping the front of her shirt with one hand, the other still on her cheek.

“I’m not. You smell good.” Cass blinked, surprised, and Damran leaned down to sniff at the juncture between neck and shoulder. A shiver ran up her spine and raised gooseflesh on her arms. “You smell good,” she repeated. “And I like it a lot.”

“Oh,” Cass said quietly. “Okay.”

Damran made her own scent a bit stronger, made the subtle notes clearer, and waited as Cass started to become aware of it. “You smell good, too,” the mage said. “But I don’t think we’re smelling things on the same level.”

“Probably not.” Damran inhaled deeply again, groaning and pressing her closed mouth against Cass’s shoulder. She barely kept herself from moving, rolling her hips or gripping with her hands. “I need to stop scenting you,” she murmured against Cass’s skin, inhaling again and exhaling shakily.

“You’re not stopping,” Cass commented.

Damran groaned, pulled away. “I’m stopping.”

Cass laughed at her, smiling honestly. Damran memorized the expression, mapping the lines that it made, the dimples that appeared in Cass’s cheeks. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask you to come home with me tonight,” Cass said.

“Oh, Titans, please don’t.”


	42. Interlude - The Wedding

Damran returned to Stormwind for a brief time to attend a wedding.

She went alongside Scaril on orders from Gadreel. “Behave,” the guild master warned. “You know the rules.”

“I do,” Damran confirmed with a smirk. “Doesn’t mean I’m inclined to follow them.”

“At least don’t make a terrible impression on the new Princess,” Gadreel sighed. “You’re representing me and the Glory Seekers, you know.”

Damran sighed, flopping back limply in the chair. “I know the rules,” he groaned. “You’re no fun.”

“You’ll be going with Scaril,” Gadreel said as though she hadn’t heard him. “As The Red. I hear there will be some Horde guests. Leave them be.”

“I know the rules, I said,” Damran reminded her. “I’ll behave.”

“Good. The ceremony starts in an hour. You’ll be announced by name. Scaril should be on her way to the Keep already.”

“I’ll leave Anwell here,” Damran said. “I’m expecting Shadows sometime this week.”

“Understood. I’ll have word passed around they’re Helliah’s people.”

“Still bitter about her leaving?” Damran asked, verbally poking what he knew to be a very sore nerve.

The papers in Gadreel’s hands crinkled. “She didn’t leave,” the warrior said calmly. “She still considers herself a Glory Seeker, but you know as well as I do she only saw the guild as a stepping stone.”

“A very tall one.”

“Be that as it may,” Gadreel continued, her voice calm. “The Shadow Walkers and the Glory Seekers are on good standing with each other.”

“Mm. I heard she’s going to be prime minister of Westfall,” Damran said, inspecting his hand. He changed the skin tones experimentally as he spoke. “Soon, anyway. Good for her.”

“What it is?” Gadreel sighed.

Damran showed off his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “You’ll see.”

“That’s not like you,” Gadreel said. “You don’t hide things.”

“I don’t need to.” Damran shrugged. “Helliah asked me not to share just yet.”

“Ah. Alright, then.”

“I think I’ll fuck Anwell before I head out,” Damran mused, as though thinking aloud.

“Please don’t do that,” Gadreel sighed. “Keep your thoughts in your head.”

“Why?” Damran asked, gaze sliding too smoothly to Gadreel. “Does it make you hot?”

Gadreel glared at Damran, who smirked. “Not right now, Damran.”

“Alright, alright.”

The wedding itself was nice enough. The food was tasty, though Damran would have preferred eating that fat pandaren that was sitting down the table from her. There were a few nice speeches, and Damran reveled in the heat of the soon-to-be Princess. She was a warrior and her fury was like magma. Damran wanted to taste her lungs. But, it was not to be. The Knight Lieutenant had the loyalty of many Stormwind citizens already, despite not yet technically being a Royal.

“Hey, wanna pass me the salt?” Damran said to the dwarf next to her. He silently handed her the salt shaker, not looking up from his plate. “Thanks.” Damran leaned over and sniffed at his beard. “Nice soap, by the way.”

“Thank ye,” he croaked.

Scaril watched with some amusement, and Damran grinned right back. They had tuned in to the thoughts of many of the people in attendance, and some of them were rather interesting.

“Having fun?” Scaril asked.

“Yeah, a bit. It would be better if I was allowed to eat something a bit more tasty, but this is fine.” Damran sighed. “I’m bored now, though.”

“Perhaps you should try paying someone a visit,” Scaril suggested.

“Maybe I will. I could go see the whisperers,” Damran said conversationally. “Maybe knock them around a bit. Finding problems where there are none is quite a talent. Maybe I should eat them.”

“It would certainly give you something to do tonight.”

Damran smiled slowly. “You can’t hide from me, Scar. I know you want me to do it so the little Princess is safe.”

“I’d hardly call her little. She’s almost as wide as you are.”

“Mm, yeah. I know.” Damran bared his teeth and licked them slowly. “You like to argue it so much, but you really are a loyal citizen.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scaril said smoothly.

“That’s alright. We all have our secrets.”

Damran caught the fat pandaren when the revelries started. They almost wished someone would find the remains of the corpse right away, but was content to know that in less than ten hours, someone would stumble over them.


	43. Plans and Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, Kaila. The start of something big.

Cassiopeia's friend Dania had future sight. It lent an odd tinge to her scent that no one else had, besides perhaps Wrathion the black drake - though his visions were premade and Titan-gifted. It was not the same at all. Not even Velen's visions were natural like Dania's. His were gifts of the Naaru, little snippets of the possible future. Dania's visions came from her link to the Nether, one shared by all mages. It was her sensitivity, Damran thought, that took the ripples of events in the Nether and translated them into possible events in the physical realm.

Dania had seen a great apocalypse, one that had the same echoes as the visions of the returning Legion that Wrathion had been given, and similar echoes to the vision of The Battle that Velen had had.

Damran could taste the crackle of fel energy in the air. It wasn't strong. Not nearly strong enough to signify an immediate invasion. But they were coming, and soon. And Cass was afraid. She liked the world. She wanted it to stay. Damran would oblige.

That meant they had to plan. There were plenty of power sources in Azeroth, but the ones Damran wanted to target as an end goal were the Old Ones themselves. Indestructible, existing in multiple planes at once, they could prove a significant defense of the Azeroth Cass wanted to keep.

That meant that they had to prepare. Damran knew she couldn't simply eat an Old One. She needed reinforcements, more mortal voices that alone would fall victim to the Old Ones, but together could overpower and silence them.

That meant they had to travel. Draenor's oceans were wide and the planet was young. Its main continent, the one most thought was its only continent, had most of the planet's landmass. But there were smaller pieces no one but their inhabitants knew about, besides Damran. No one would miss those peoples.

They were few, compared to the main continent, but they were enough. Some of the animals seemed to be semi-sentient, and that would help. All Damran needed was a way across the ocean. Going there would be easy. Travelling through the Under was simpler than opening an unlocked door. 

Coming back would be more difficult - absorbing so many voices would mean they would need time to adjust, to force compliance and then organize the voices once they were subjugated. It wasn't easy to travel through the Under while so many voices were in an uproar. When they were calm, it would be easy again. But Damran didn't have the time to wait for them to calm. The Legion was near. They needed to be ready.

They visited Khadgar. The humidity surrounding his tower didn't bother Damran.

"You're going to do what?" he demanded, whirling on Damran. He looked absolutely exhausted, and stumbled a step when he tried to approach them. "Are you insane?"

"No. I'm preparing. You can feel it - the Legion is near. We need to be ready."

"One would think you'd be glad for the coming chaos," he said. Damran knew she was unusually irritable, and held back the ire at his bitter tone.

"Cass likes the world as it is," Damran replied. "So it stays."

"Who's Cass?" Khadgar asked.

"A friend. She likes the world, so it stays. I need the voices of the Old Ones to make that happen. So I'm preparing. I need a stable portal through the Nether back to the mainland. Target me instead of a location, in twelve days at noon."

Khadgar had questions for her, but she didn't want to take the time to answer. For his sake, she answered one. "Where are you going?" he asked warily.

"The other continents. Small, hardly noticeable unless you know what to look for. No one will miss them. Certainly no one from our time. The orcs didn't even know about them."

Khadgar could feel the tension in Damran's frame, in their Voice, and while Damran knew he'd want answers later, he was willing to trust them this much. "Alright," he agreed tiredly. "But I expect a full explanation once you've sorted yourself out."

"Fine," Damran agreed shortly. With her way back secured, Damran tugged at the strings of the Under and pulled herself along one of them, through an opening, to their first destination.

There were nine other pieces of land on Draenor, along with some small floating isles, only one of which had sentient beings. Damran visited that first, moved too quickly to enjoy the slaughter but still slowly enough to taste the souls as they poured into their body, howling and terrified.

The continents took longer than a day each, despite Damran's hurry. Instead of using their polearm or their claws they used magic to gather the sentient species to them, and then to slaughter them. Damran filed away the memories of the genocides for later perusal. They were in too much of a hurry to enjoy it now. It would take time to silence one Old God, and they wanted to eat at least three. They needed the time the quick slaughter would buy them.

At the last continent, Damran slowed a bit. They were ahead of schedule. They thought, Cass might enjoy learning that this planet had primitive races similar to the early species of Azeroth. It might interest her to know that the theory of relative evolution was true - that whatever species flourished in one world, other worlds would have similar formulas. The Wild would reuse whatever worked, whatever survived. Damran took stock of it all, and kept going.

When Khadgar opened the portal on the twelfth day, practically right on top of them, they grinned with bloody teeth and stepped through. Their body, their construct, was having a rough time containing all of the new souls and kept bursting at inopportune moments from the pressure. Irregular bleeding was common and Damran repaired the damage even as the roiling souls inside their body tried to escape their new chains. They would calm, in time, as all the others had.

"Do you need help?" Khadgar asked, eyeing their bloody body warily. Some of their bones were obviously broken and Damran snapped them back into place and knitted them back together even as their back yawned open. They stitched that back together while they spoke.

"Thank you, but no. It won't be long. I'll need perhaps a month."

"A month? How many people did you kill?" Khadgar asked. His voice was deceptively mild. Damran listened, only to his surface thoughts. It took effort, unlike their useless easy perusal, because of the amount of concentration needed to tame their new voices. Khadgar was displeased, to say the least, that Damran had obviously committed mass genocide. But he was able to set that aside. Azeroth was more important to him. He was a mortal with his priorities in order, which was something Damran could respect.

"Quite a lot," she responded easily. "When they're still enough that I can count them, I'll let you know the new total."

"I'm not sure I want to know," Khadgar replied. "Which Old One are you going to target first?"

"Not yet," she said. "I'll need some voices who are already attuned to them."

"There are the qiraji," Khadgar suggested. "The Klaxxi. I'm not sure if you could take in the sha first to perhaps acclimate yourself to Y'shaarj, if you wanted to start with that one."

"It's an idea," Damran said with a gracious nod. Their neck broke and they picked their head back up with their hand to steady it while they fixed the break. "I might go for Y'shaarj, first, actually. It was weakened severely in the siege of Orgrimmar, and there are enough Klaxxi that they won't notice me taking a few thousand to acclimate to his voice."

"You're sure you want to do this?" Khadgar asked. "You might simply fall prey to the Old One, and then what would we do? If you were to become a servant of them, I'm not sure we could take you out."

"That won't happen," Damran assured him. "I'm not weak, Khadgar. Certainly I won't be in a few weeks. I'll contact you when I'm planning to go to Pandaria, but you should keep it to yourself. The less warning they have, the easier it will be to eat them. They might try to reach out, to find new hosts and influential servants. When I eat Y'shaarj, the Klaxxi should quiet down. The sha might remain, or remnants of it. The land will not magically be repaired."

"Understood," Khadgar sighed. "Then, I suppose I should wish you good luck, and pray you remain on our side."

"I was never on your side," Damran said. "I like Cass. That's the only reason I'm doing this."

"Then I'll pray you remain neutral, with the occasional favour towards mortals."

Damran smiled, showing off her sharp and blood-filled teeth.


	44. First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaila, this fic is speaking. You know what it's saying? "Read Amadeus, Kaila. Read Amadeus." That's what it's saying.

Damran went to Dalaran, first, to visit Cass. It had been two months since the mage had last seen her and Cass missed her. "I'd like you to go to Stormwind," Damran said when she was curled around Cass like a snake on the mage's favourite rooftop. "You'll be safe with Anwell."

"Why do I need to leave Dalaran?" Cass asked. "I like it here. I live here."

"Then I'll send Anwell to you," Damran responded. "I won't be around for a while. Possibly a year or more. I want Anwell with you, you'll be safe with him. He knows Stormwind better than he knows Dalaran but if you want to stay here, he can learn."

"Dania might like to go back," Cass muttered, considering.

"Dania will want to stay here with her mentor, because of the visions," Damran said. "But you'd be welcome in Stormwind, in the Glory Seeker compound, even without my tabard."

"Everyone loves a mage," Cass joked, and then she frowned and Damran rubbed her cheek gently against the top of Cass' head, comforting her and marking her with Damran's scent at the same time. "I don't know. When do I need to make a decision?"

"Preferably within the week," Damran replied. "I'm leaving soon. I need time."

"Time for what?"

"To prepare. You'll see," Damran said.

"You'll tell me?"

"When it's safe to do so."

Cass accepted that answer. She trusted Damran, which lent a comfortable, dry type of warmth to her scent. Damran tucked her face into Cass' neck to inhale slowly and enjoy it. It tickled, apparently, because the mage giggled and squirmed and reached up to touch Damran's face gently.

Cassiopeia made her choice by the week's end. She'd go to Stormwind, explore the city and learn from its libraries and its scholars, and maybe work in the Academy of Magic while she was there. Anwell would protect her. He was a master assassin. He had a reputation few recalled, but those who would dare enter Damran's domain would be ones who knew Anwell's previous names. They would know fear of him. And beyond that, he was imbued with Damran's own strength. He would keep Cass safe while Damran was otherwise occupied. He'd keep Damran's favourite safe and alive until they could return to do it themself.

The mantid welcomed Damran with wariness. She could feel the tension in the air, savoured it with a grin, and approached the first kypari tree.

It was full of swarmers, and for the first day she fought physically, getting used to their fighting style and adjusting to fighting flying foes.

The second day she used magic, pulling them all in and crushing them into a tiny, superheavy ball. No soul escaped the net of energy Damran cast over them, and she pulled the souls into herself, immediately starting the process of turning them into voices.

Four kypari trees, small ones, were completely emptied. Damran took mantid of all types, all ranks, and on the third day sat down and took stock of her new voices. It was enough, she thought, for the moment. It would take time to learn the vibrations, the essence of Y'shaarj that permeated their flesh, the smallest particles that made up their physical beings. And then, Damran would reach into their memories and take on the guise of a servant of the Old One. It would fool it, make it trust Damran until they were close enough to start the battle of wills with an advantage of surprise.

With so many mantid voices inside Damran, the other mantid saw her as one of their one, a fellow maddened servant of the Elder Gods. They moved around her like they would move around any other member of the swarm, and she picked some of their out of the air if they flew too close. The incessant beating of their wings irritated her and she took pleasure in ripping their wings to ribbons, letting them flutter to the ground.

Y'shaarj's heart had been moved out of Orgrimmar after the defeat of Garrosh Hellscream, returned to a vault deep below Pandaria. The Shado-Pan were still trying to figure out how to reseal it. They didn't notice Damran slipping in like a shadow on the high vaulted ceiling, and when night fell and they returned to the surface she dropped to the ground and opened herself.

Millions upon millions of voices poured out in an insane cacophony, and Y'shaarj's voice rumbled to life.

"You tread in dangerous waters," he whispered, his voice invading her thoughts like she would invade a mortal's mind.

"They are dangerous because I tread them," she replied, and released her hold on the voices. They descended upon Y'shaarj at her behest, screaming and howling and shaking him to his unreal core. He howled and screamed and tried to eat them, but his grasp on their forms slipped like water off a fish's back. Damran's will was too strong for his weakened mind and he suffered for it even as Damran's voices tore chunks out of his power, returning to Damran to gift them to her like precious jewels before returning to the fray.

Each chunk was but a tiny piece of the whole. It would take a long time to take them all this way, much too long for Damran's plan to come to fruition. Damran reached deep, into the earth below her feet, and pulled at the energy of the planet's core. It was slow to respond, but she was nothing if not patient. When she finally had a firm grasp on it she wrapped it around herself, a neutral barrier that even an Old God could not easily penetrate, and entered the fray herself.

Y'shaarj screamed, his voice shaking the ground in an earthquake the pandaren would not be able to ignore. Damran, however, had already sealed all of the exits. The mantid the Old One tried to call to its defence would not come. Not in time to help.

Each time Damran took a piece of his power, he screamed. It learned fear of Damran, fear of The Many Voices, and Damran revelled in it, used this new weakness to take ever greater pieces of Y'shaarj's power, of its self. Fragmented he was weak, so weak that Damran could turn his power into hers, transmute his core into something favourable to her with each passing moment. 

It was absolutely addictive. The sensation of being so full of sheer power, of madness and chaos and total control was something Damran was used to, but not to this scale. Damran dedicated some of her voices to adjusting to it, and kept going, kept tearing at Y'shaarj's chaotic core.

It would take a long time. One voice kept track of the days, weeks that flew by, and one other was solely dedicated to thinking of Cass, of remembering why Damran was consuming an Old God. Not to become one, but to become something else entirely. Become what, none of them knew. They only knew that soon, they would be more powerful than anything else on, in, or under Azeroth.


	45. Welcome Home

They emerged from the earth new, different, black energy crackling along their bare skin. They had no need to materialize armour. It would not provide any protection that their new power could not give.

They raised their nose to the air, inhaled the scents on the wind, and smiled slowly. Cass was safe. They could feel her voice, murmuring in its usual channels, quiet but undeniable. She was safe in Stormwind, near Anwell, whose voice was linked to hers with red energy - with Damran's will.

The Under had always cooperated with Damran. It was the existential plane preferred by Old Ones, the Dread Elders, the Ancient Voices. Now, it outright favoured them, bending to their will even as they reached out to touch it. They were an Old One now, yet they were not. They were The Many Voices.

They were in their private quarters in the Glory Seekers compound with an errant thought, the Under reading their wish and obeying eagerly. They were hidden from all senses, real and not real at the same time, in two states of being at once. Cass was here, home for the day, surrounded by books, by her work from the Stormwind Academy of Magic. She had taken on a class of curious young pupils, laughingly accepted a part-time position as a teacher's assistant. She had the smell of magic, children, and trees on her skin.

Anwell noticed Damran first. Attuned to her as he was, he felt something, some disturbance in the shadow where they stood. His ears flicked, his eyes watched, and Damran smiled and materialized slowly enough that it would not hurt his eyes or his head to see her appear suddenly.

"Damran," Anwell breathed, a slow smile growing on his face until he was grinning, the expression bending his face, pushing his cheeks up.

Cass looked up, eyes wide. "What?" she said, and a moment later she noticed them. "Damran!" she crowed, jumping to her feet, knocking the chair back and rushing to embrace the naked Damran. "You're back!"

"I am," Damran said, wrapping Cass up in their arms and inhaling her scent. Anwell approached, lay a hand on Damran's arm in greeting. She looked up at him. "You've done well," they praised, and the elf smiled happily.

"Thank you. Cass is a delight," he replied.

"Oh," she blushed, brushing it off.

Damran inspected them carefully. Their physical and non-physical selves were fine, and she relaxed her senses, let herself enter the physical plane fully. "How are things?" she asked.

"The Princess just had twins!" Cass said brightly, leaning back to look at Damran. Her eyes roved Damran's face as though she'd forgotten what it looked like. Perhaps she had. Mortals did not have the best memory for such things. "Everyone's so excited. I've heard some nasty rumours, though."

"About what?" Damran asked, unfolding herself and leaving the cover of shadows. They materialized loose pants for themselves, sat on a wide, comfortable chair, and let Cass immediately fold herself into their lap, her soul humming happily.

"Well, people are saying things like royal babies shouldn't have twins, and it's just going to cause problems, and stuff," Cass replied. With Damran there, the worry she felt about it was muted, nearly silenced. Damran listened to her speak, recount all of the rumours, and soothed it all away with a heated hand massaging the mage's back.

Anwell came to stand next to Damran at his usual position, eternally by her side. Damran glanced up, red eyes all-seeing and bright, and reached out to touch his mind. Recalling the clammy hands of the Old One they'd eaten, they softened their touch and merely brushed the surface. They let Anwell welcome them in, rather than simply entering as they would have before.

They expressed their gratitude for keeping Cass safe and happy, and Anwell's soul quivered with barely restrained glee at the praise. Damran smiled and Anwell's physical form trembled at the effort to contain his joy. They would reward him later, when Cass was tired enough to sleep properly.

For now, they had to reacquaint their favourite mortal with the pleasure and satisfaction that came with having the favour of The Many Voices.


	46. Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaila, look at what you're making me do.

One Elder God was not enough. Damran was not satisfied. Five had once held sway over the entirety of Azeroth, from its core to its atmosphere. Damran would need at least that much power in order to defend what the Old Ones had once controlled, what Cass now treasured.

C'thun was next. Its servants, the Qiraji, would provide the same preparations that the Klaxxi had given for Y'shaarj. Damran said their farewells to Cass, leaving her safe once more in Stormwind with Anwell. Without effort, the Under bent to their will, ever eager to please.

Ahn'qiraj had been a great city-fortress, many ages ago. Now it was ruined, its denizens all but extinct. There yet remained enough for Damran's purposes.

They gathered the souls of the slain, ate them, forced them into servitude and let the millions of voices already inside them change the new souls, make them part of the whole. With the knowledge they garnered from the new additions, Damran learned of C'thun's location.

To prepare Damran whispered to the Under, to the layered reality of Ahn'qiraj, and spoke a desire to absorb the remnants of C'thun's power that yet lingered there. It obeyed their superior will, rushed to the ever-gaping maw of Damran's will to be eaten, digested, made new as a part of the greater whole.

Then, when they felt they were ready, they slipped in the dark layer, the reflection of the physical plane, to the Vermillion Redoubt. They listened, watched, and learned. The dragons thought themselves immune to silent watchers, even with their unique history of being controlled by Old Ones. Damran listened to their errant thoughts, grew aware of the watchful presence of C'thun, and smiled.

Its will was muted, near death but never truly dead, but it had a distinct flavour. It probed at Damran, curious. It thought they were, perhaps, a high-ranked servant of Y'shaarj - or even a fragment of its own power.

Damran took hold of C'thun's probing thoughts, tentacles that reached through the dark layer to feel at their power. They followed the many reaching hands, their many voices nibbling at them, sampling their power as they went.

They reached C'thun's hiding place and the Old God shook the physical plane around it with its shrieks of outrage. How dare Damran imitate an Elder God? How dare they have such arrogance? Damran howled in return, laughing and mocking, and released their hold on the voices.

The voices knew what to do, as they had before, and set upon C'thun's power like hungry ravens at a carcass. It would not take as long to consume C'thun as it had to consume Y'shaarj, as the first to fall had surrendered itself to the surging mass of voices that had drowned it like a pebble in the ocean.

As before, one voice took it upon itself to remind the others of Cass, of their favourite mortal, of their reason for wanting this disgusting, slimy power. One other counted the seconds, kept track of the hours, days, weeks that passed.

Seven months, one week, one day, six hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-three seconds, and the count ended. Damran's will filled every crevice of the dark chamber the red dragons had used to attempt to seal C'thun, and with a thought they reconstructed their host body. Damran surged to the forefront, took control once more of the rest of its voices. 

They inhaled, not physically but mentally. Azeroth hummed under their feet with a new intensity, as Damran's senses were much more refined now with two Elder Voices. They relearned themself, the world, its inhabitants, and smiled. Cass was in Ironforge right now, a little drunk, and Anwell watched over her protectively from the shadows.

Damran joined them in the tavern, not enough of them in the physical plane to be seen by any mortal. Cass' laugh echoed in their will and their voices murmured contentedly. Damran enjoyed it, and so The Many Voices enjoyed it, treasured it.

Damran watched Cass for a few days. There was not much else that interested them, not now, not when it had been seven months and a week since they'd felt Cass' soul uncurl itself in the safety of Damran's power, spread out and take up the space provided, rush out eagerly to rejoice in Damran's presence.

Damran materialized fully while Cass was asleep in Damran's quarters in the compound. Anwell woke at their presence, fel-bright eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Damran," he greeted, smiling widely. "Welcome home."

"Anwell," Damran murmured, keeping only their first voice in the range Anwell could hear. It could hurt him to hear all voices speak at once. Damran did not want that for her ever-loyal companion.

She slipped into Anwell's bed, warmed him with her touch and let him fall back asleep with the knowledge that they had pleased Damran.

None of the changes Damran had underwent were made obvious to Cass, and only some were shown to Anwell. Damran knew that Cass wanted the Damran she knew, and so Damran remained that way to her, to all around them. They kept their new power secret, until it was needed. It would be, soon. Within twenty-five years, it would be needed. Many voices forgotten or thought dead would be needed. In time, it would come. In time, Cass would see the power Damran had obtained. But not now.

Damran moved to Cass' bed when Anwell was asleep. Cass woke slowly to the soft touch of a lover, smiled sleepily, and curled into Damran's chest even as the little mage's soul relaxed, spread out, reached up into Damran's ribcage to settle against their power contentedly.


	47. Answers

Damran had promised answers to Khadgar's questions, two years ago. They visited him to offer them, and he refused.

"I don't want to know about your... adventures," he said, preoccupied and bustling about the upper floor of his tower. "I have my own issues to worry about and adding yours on top of that will not do any good for anyone. Especially not myself!" he said, stopping momentarily to stare wildly at Damran. "Are you still you?"

"Yes."

"And you still favour your mortal?"

"Yes."

"That's enough," he declared. "I'm too busy to do anything but just trust that you know what you're doing. And with so many voices, I'm sure you do."

"Yes."

"You heard of Dania Amadeus' vision?"

"Yes."

"I suppose that's the source of your sudden interest in the Old Ones. Did you manage to take one?"

"Two," Damran responded, and that made Khadgar stop and stare at them oddly.

"I see," he said softly. "I cannot sense any differences within you, Damran the Many."

"I'm not showing them. And I will not. They would drive you to insanity worse than Medivh's."

"I suppose I should thank you for not doing that, then," he said. "I haven't heard any news of your recent exploits."

"These things no longer interest me."

"Because of the Old Ones? I suppose they've overwhelmed the demonic in entirety. Are you more inclined to mass hysteria and chaotic reality, then?"

"Of a sort."

"I see. At least fix whatever damage you do to reality, please," he said. "I really don't gave time to chase after you to fix it myself."

"Don't worry about it," Damran said. "Worry about your own issues. I smelled Wrathion on the way in?"

"Ah, yes. He's interested in the Apexis shards, it seems."

"The ancient civilization," Damran provided.

"Yes. I don't suppose you know anything about it?"

"Some. I could find out more."

"Will you?"

"After Yogg-saron, perhaps."

"Yogg... You're going for a third?" Khadgar demanded. "Are you sure it's wise? Can you even handle that much? That many?"

Damran smiled. It only touched her mouth, and it intentionally brought a sense of primal terror - fear and confusion, mixed together in a dangerous way - to the Archmage. He shook it off, but Damran knew he'd remember it. "We are not as you remember, Khadgar," Damran said softly. "Like I said. Don't worry about us."

"Right." Khadgar swallowed thickly, and turned to rifle through the piles of papers and objects and Apexis fragments on his desk. "Right," he repeated, a bit brighter this time. "I'll leave you to it, then. And I'll pray to the Light, to the Titans, and to whatever and whoever will listen that you continue to show favour towards us mere mortals of Azeroth."

"There are many things beyond you, Khadgar. Many things unseen. I intend to see them all."

"Knowledge is power," Khadgar intoned. "And you want to take it to the extreme. To the limits that the Titans themselves explore to reseed entire worlds."

"Five Elder Gods once held sway over Azeroth in all forms, all layers," Damran said. "Nothing less will be enough for me. For now."

Khadgar's face twisted in realization, and Damran reached out mentally to erase his realizations from his mind and put temporary mental blocks in place. He'd rediscover these things when it was the proper time to share them with those in power. Damran knew that when the blocks fell, on a timeline they'd made specifically for Khadgar's unique position between Alliance and Horde, he'd immediately rush to Shattrath, and then to the capitals of Azeroth.

And their leaders would prepare. It was foretold by the Titans, by the Naaru, by a naturally gifted young mage, and now by Damran themself that the Legion would soon return. It would only be a matter of time, and of how angry the Legion and their leader was that the draenei and then all of Azeroth had so far resisted their attempts at uniting another piece of reality with its mirror in the dark layer, erasing both from existence.

They would start with chaos. With mystery, strange magics and disappearances and events that couldn't be explained. Then, they would bring in demons. At that time, Illidan would be released. Damran's own hand would ensure it, and the eventual resurgence of demon hunters.

Anwell would be interested in that, Damran thought. In using one's enemy's power against them. He was already full of fel energy, and Damran's will backed his. With that, none could stand against him. Or perhaps he would prefer to remain an assassin, but with skills reinforced by Damran's immutable, absolute will and the power of a Pit Lord.

Whatever he wanted, Damran smiled. It could be arranged, whatever it was. He had the eternal favour of The Many Voices. Whatever he wanted would be.

"You're still here?" Khadgar said, surprised.

"No."

Damran vanished, traveled through the Under to Azeroth, to Icecrown. She would start there, absorb saronite from the inactive mines the Scourge had once hewn from the earth's crust. They would take and take until there was none left, and then they would dig deeper than any other into the earth and find the Faceless Ones.

And then, Damran thought with a twisted sort of glee, and then.

And then, they would feast.


	48. Evolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damran used to be just an awful person who I used to explore awfulness in all its glory. Now they're a goddamn Elder God.
> 
> FML.

Saronite was the blood of an Old God, the blood of Yogg-saron, crystallized and made into a metallic substance appropriate for armour. Unaffected by most magics, poisonous to most beings, it was the perfect tool for an army of mindless undead.

Without that army there to mine the ore it was all available to the first person with the will to take it. Damran as able to take as much as she needed. She forged a third body for herself, a body made of saronite and primal matter, and wore it as she burrowed into the earth's crust like a parasite into its host.

But she had already decided that their relationship with the planet would be symbiotic. They would defend it, its space in existence, and let it evolve naturally at its proper pace. In return, it would provide for her entertainment, and a large selection of mortals from which she could choose a handful of favourites. And as those died, she could pick new ones from newer generations.

It was an exceptionally good deal for Azeroth, and Damran found it pleasing as well. To enforce it, to keep up their end, they would need more power. With their form of saronite and now, the voices of endless Faceless Ones, they could claim more of that power that came from the deepest parts of What Is. They could take for themself what should not have been claimed by one or even by five, what should have been claimed by Many.

It would not take as long as the first two to eat Yogg-saron, but its tentacles and its power reached deep and wide. Centered in Ulduar, it reached deep to the core of the planet, and wide to the furthest reaches of Northrend and even beyond, now that it had been left to rot and seep into the cracks in the earth. Damran would have their countless hands full for at least a year, perhaps seventeen months, routing out the rot and burning it as fuel to find the rest.

And then. And then, they would feast again on the flesh and the power of an Elder God. They would feast as millions, nearly billions at a great table. They would digest, rest a while while they processed this newest addition to The Many, and then they would plan for a fourth.

But for now, a third was their priority.

They found a trail of rot and followed it to its end, which lay separate from the main body. They found another trail and followed it, and hundreds more, passing weeks in this way. Then, they found a trail that ended abruptly, cut off from its source. Yogg-saron had felt Damran's prodding and had cut off the tendril of corruption and rot before Damran could find the Old One's core.

Damran continued searching, found the severed end of the trail and through it reached the Old One. Their host-body of saronite disguised them well enough to approach unchallenged, but past the walls of Ulduar's underbelly, Yogg-saron would see them as the threat they truly were.

They lay in wait. They waited for Yogg-saron's attention to slip. Weak as it was, the Old God could not take thousands of tasks at once as once they had been able. Damran waited, wormed into the very soil around the Old One's heart, and when its attention slipped from them completely they struck.

Millions of voices, howling with the fury of The Many, surged from the earth to tear at Yogg-saron's dying heart. It shrieked in outrage, tried to summon its servants, the Faceless Ones - but they had already fallen, had already joined The Many, and they too tore pieces from Yogg-saron's power to bring back to Damran as gifts.

Again, one voice took hold of time and counted the passing moments. Again, one other voice remembered Cass, the reason they consumed Old Gods, the reason they sought power. A third, now, remembered Anwell the Companion of The Many, remembered his loyalty, and sought to have more like him. That, Damran decided, would be their next goal. Even as they consumed the coils of the Elder God's power, they decided - Anwell would soon have companions of his own. He, after years of service and absolute devotion, would receive with interest what he'd earned.

The world became aware of the shift in power. They began to question the sudden absence of the Old Ones who'd been locked under the earth not long ago. When Damran emerged from the earth, whose basest particles trembled faintly at their nearness, they spread themself over every inch of the world, reached into each mind and erased the questions and the wondering, made proxies of the past in the minds of the mortals who remained individual from The Many.

The questions disappeared. All became as it had been, as it would have been if Damran had not found Cass, had not decided to keep Azeroth. It would remain that way until The Many was needed. Damran would remain as only Damran, only the Red. It was best to keep themself hidden, for now, until they were needed. They would not frighten Cass or cause her to doubt her own feelings. They would not drive Anwell to complete insanity with their true self, now changed by the power of three Old Gods.

No, Damran would remain as the Red until the Legion returned, unaware of the great beast lurking in the shadows of Azeroth just beyond their reach. Damran would obey their old rules - respect to those in command, respect of the First Request, giving only what was taken.

The mortals would grow complacent with the Red. They would fear, but they would adjust, and they would not know of the countless eyes on them, watching, learning, taking souls that wandered too far, until The Many was needed.

Then.

Then, they would see.

But now, they would not see. It would not be a part of their reality. For now, The Many was simply Damran, and Cass could enjoy her company as any human would their lover. Anwell, perhaps, would be shown a fragment, perhaps given a fragment to augment his own will. He had earned nothing less.

For now, Damran The Many would lay in wait just beneath the surface, where Damran the Red would occupy her usual space.

For now, Cass would be waiting for her. It had been nearly two years since she'd last seen Damran, and she missed her.

Damran would oblige.


	49. Echoes

The whisperers Cass had once spoken of, had expressed concern over, were taken care of first. The safety of the Princess was secured for the second time, better this time than the first with the Many Voices able to see into the minds of those who protested the presence of a second Prince. Damran knew the dangers surrounding the young Princes and erased it violently, and Cass was satisfied of it. Then, Damran went to Cass, back to where and when they came from.

They were welcomed home with open arms and an open soul that unfurled itself in the safe confines of Damran's will. Anwell, too, greeted them with contentment that smoothed the waves of unsureness and wariness that had appeared in Damran's absence. With Damran's reappearance, such things were no longer necessary.

When Cass was bedded down for the night, Damran turned to Anwell. As he always had, he focused on her, attentive and ready. "There is something coming," Damran said softly, her red eyes resting on Cass. The mage was still, save for the rise and fall of her breathing. "Something for which we all must prepare."

"What would you have me do?" Anwell asked, keeping his voice low as well. If he were to wake Cass, he knew that Damran would forgive him - though they would not have forgiven anyone else. Still, he liked Cass and bore her no ill will, and he had respect for Damran and for Damran's mage.

"Prepare," Damran said simply. "In the lost lands they prepare, twisting reality into nightmare. Perverting themselves, and others."

"Shall I kill them?"

"No. That is not yours," Damran said. "Your voice will echo somewhere else."

"Where would you have me go, then?" Anwell asked.

Damran looked over at him. "There is another group, ones who would use the enemy's power against them. Powerful, not noble, but true of purpose."

It took only a moment for Anwell to connect her words with ones spoken previously, some in the dead of night, others in passing. "Demon hunters," he said quietly.

"Yes. They will be instrumental in the wars to come."

"I am yours, Damran," Anwell said, bowing his head slightly. "If you wish it, I will go to them, and join their ranks. I already have the fel taint within me, and they would know my past names. They would welcome me as a fellow."

"If you go, it will be as one of their number already. To their minds, you would have been there since the beginning. And I will give you the necessary knowledge," Damran said simply, turning back to Cass. "You're never too far for me to reach you and nothing is permanent under my gaze. Go to them, be one of them, and turn as many as you can to Azeroth's favour. And keep this close to your heart - Illidan will return."

"Illidan was killed," Anwell said. There was no question spoken, only fact. "By heroes of the Horde, mostly."

"Illidan will return," Damran stated in the same tone. "And we must be ready for the events surrounding it."

Anwell bowed his head again for a moment, and Damran reached out to brush a hand down his arm. "I will go," Anwell said softly. "Will you be staying with Cass, then?"

"I am always with her. She will be safe," Damran said with a knowing smile. "Be ready. You will not have an easy time."

"I do it for The Many Voices," Anwell said. A moment later he was gone, the Under pulling him through, his soul surrounded by Damran's immutable will.

Damran's gaze returned to Cass. The little mage was unaware, completely content to bask in Damran's presence, in the scent permeating the air and the sheets, in the coolness Damran produced for Cass' comfort, in the warmth of the cotton sheets and Damran's watchful eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Any names that sound like toons that actually exist in-game is almost purely coincidental. The Glory Seekers guild is included in that statement.
> 
> I wrote this out because every writer needs to have a character who enjoys hurting people just for the hell of it.


End file.
